


Alchemy

by merkury



Category: Lore Olympus (Webcomic)
Genre: Eventual Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:19:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 42,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21852004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merkury/pseuds/merkury
Summary: Alchemy, from Ancient Greek χημεία (khēmeía) or χυμεία (khumeía).1. A power or process that changes or transforms something in a mysterious or impressive way.2. An inexplicable or mysterious transmuting.Drawn from the incredible world & characters of Rachel Smythe's Lore Olympus.
Relationships: Hades/Persephone (Lore Olympus)
Comments: 153
Kudos: 283





	1. Ceremony

**Hades leaned against the side of his car and turned the piece of parchment over in his hand. **

By this point, it had grown damp from the sweat of his palms. In the other hand, he inhaled his cigarette; this, too, had been a consistent habit since he arrived at the ceremony 30 minutes earlier. He had hoped that one compulsion or another would bring him closer to a decision, but to no avail. He still remained there, silently considering the metallic golden calligraphy that glided across the front of the small square of paper.

_ The Goddesses of Eternal Maidenhood _ _   
_ _ Cordially Invite you to the Initiation Ceremony of _ _   
_ _ Persephone, Goddess of Spring _ _   
_ _ To Take Place at the Grand Ceremonial Hall of Olympus _ _   
_ _ On March the Twenty-First at Four PM _

It was one of many mass-manufactured invitations held by the hundred-or-so other participants who sat in the ceremonial hall just up the hill from where Hades stood. At this point, they were likely all seated inside the grand hall, anxiously shuffling in place until the ceremony began. Although Persephone may have preferred a smaller, more intimate ceremony, the legitimacy of TGOEM depended on public displays such as this. After all, this was not merely a public celebration of Persephone’s initiation into a club which necessitated eternal virginity. This ceremony, like the other TGOEM initiation ceremonies held before it, was a public declaration to every being within every realm: She’s unavailable. Permanently.

That being said, Hades’ invitation was unique, in that a small note had been scratched onto the back in cursive: _ It would mean a lot to me if you came. _

Although they had confessed their feelings to one another just a couple of weeks prior, both had agreed that neither of them possessed the mental nor emotional stability to pursue any sort of romance. As Persephone gradually distanced herself and continued to pursue her future in TGOEM, Hades had become complacent. Their interactions had become stiff, fragile, cold. Persephone continued to work alongside Hades in the underworld, but their interactions were strictly professional. Hades remained in a relationship with Minthe, against his better judgement.

And so, he stood there and stared at Persephone’s note for the thousandth time. The very fact that it would mean a lot to her – this gave him pause. A couple of hours from now, after the ceremony concluded, he would be unable to provide such moments of comfort to her, and she to him. He wondered if such an interaction would only prolong the dull ache between them. 

Just a few days ago, he had fashioned a fine necklace with a large onyx gemstone hanging from a rose gold chain. He planned to give it to her today, along with a handwritten note wishing her a happy twentieth birthday. For the same reason that he now hesitated to walk into the ceremony, he had ultimately left the gift in its box at home, hidden inside his desk along with a letter he would never send her. As he stood there and ran his thumb across the black ink, he recalled how, just a few weeks ago, he had fantasized about the possibility of Persephone wearing a crown – _ their _ crown. He felt stupid, now, for thinking this. 

Instead, he fantasized something else entirely: Persephone, in a white gown, gliding down the aisle of the grand ceremonial hall. She would be honored before him and the other attendees, a large bouquet of roses in her arms. Hestia would dote over her, sing her praises, lift her up as an example to all other beings. She would be publicly declared a member of the Maidenhood, and then she would be consigned to romantic isolation forevermore. 

He wondered if she would be smiling during the ceremony. Or perhaps, she might begin to cry. Most would assume that the tears were from her sheer joy and pride, but as Hades recalled the hesitation she had expressed to him just a few weeks ago, he wondered if anyone else would see her sadness, that same sadness that he had seen marked across her face since the moment he spotted her at the Panathenaea. 

His train of thought was interrupted by the clamor of voices. Descending down the path from the ceremony hall were several attendees, most of them murmuring excitedly to themselves. For a brief moment, Hades was stricken with panic. The ceremony should have only started five minutes ago; surely, it couldn’t have ended already. He saw a couple of familiar faces among the crowd as attendees dispersed to their cars: Poseidon and Amphitrite.

“Hey, you arrived just in time!” Poseidon joked, clapping a hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“What happened? I thought the ceremony was at four.”

“It was so weird,” Amphitrite said, her voice dripping with the excitement of fresh gossip. “Just as the ceremony was supposed to start, Athena came out on stage and said that it was canceled. One of the journalists asked her why, and Athena said the ceremony would be postponed indefinitely. Then she just kind of rushed off the stage and disappeared.”

“Fine with me!” Poseidon interjected. “I hate shit like this. Anyways, looks like your girl is back up for grabs, huh?”

Normally, Hades would probably blush and knit his eyebrows together and blurt out some embarrassingly defensive remark on Persephone’s behalf, but he hardly noticed Poseidon’s comment.

“Yeah, weird,” he murmured. His eyes were fixated on the ceremony hall at the top of the hill, where attendees continued to flood out and descend down the pathway into the parking lot. Something inside of him suddenly felt very heavy. “I’ll catch you later, Poseidon.”

“Alright,” Poseidon said, unable to comment on Hades’ sudden change of tone before Hades began working against the crowd and walking up the steps to the hall. At this point, he was in such a hurry that he hardly noticed the way that the grass surrounding the walkway to the ceremonial hall was rapidly becoming brown. At the wide staircase which ascended into the building, the surrounding trees began to sag under the newly rotting branches and the weight of the leaves, which seemed to cycle through to their autumnal state in a matter of minutes. He pulled his phone out and called Hecate. She picked up on the first ring.

“Yes, Hades?”

“Hey, are you at, um, Persephone’s thing?”

“Well, I was.” Her voice sounded rushed. Worried, even. “I’m still here in the hall, but I can’t figure out what’s going on. I’m trying to find out if Persephone is okay, but it’s pretty chaotic.” She put her hand over the speaker as she turned to talk to someone, the voices coming over as muffled static in Hades’ ear. When she spoke again, her voice was even more rushed, and she spoke in a low whisper. “I need to go.”

“I’ll be right there.”

“No. Don’t.”

He gave her no time to object. He ascended the final step to the building and stepped inside. His phone began to buzz immediately after he slid it back into his suit pocket. When he didn’t answer Hecate’s call, she texted him. And then she texted him again. And then one more time, for good measure.

_ You can’t be here _

_ I’M SERIOUS. Don’t come _

_ LEAVE NOW. Demeter is looking for you _

Meanwhile, Hades was frantically checking the various rooms in the long, marble corridor which comprised the center of the ceremonial hall. He lost count after poking his head into seven or eight rooms, all of them empty. Finally, he pulled out his phone to read the texts from Hecate. 

As if on cue, the door behind him swung open. Demeter approached him without hesitation, her heels slamming against the marble floor. In the room behind her, Hestia, Athena, Artemis, and Hecate watched, completely motionless, as Demeter stomped right up to the God of the Dead and shoved him so hard that he faltered on the ivory column behind him. As he struggled to regain his composure, Demeter took the bowl in her hands and threw it at him, the thick black liquid splattering across his face and dripping down his shirt.

“You. You did this.” 

* * *

** _Earlier that afternoon._ **

“Persephone, you look magnificent.”

Hestia perched her hands on Persephone’s shoulders as both of them marveled at the reflection in the full-length mirror before them. Her white gown dripped gracefully to the floor, the delicate embroidery of red roses circling her waist where the gown cinched around her curves.

As Hestia turned around to retrieve something from a box on the table, Persephone covertly fiddled with the crown of rose petals holding her hair up in a large braided mess atop her head. She was beginning to worry that Hestia and the others might notice the way her hair was lengthening more rapidly as the ceremony approached.

In the meantime, she was stuck with Hestia, Artemis, and Athena in a spacious room across from the grand hall where the ceremony would take place. She wished that she could open the window and feel the rush of the cool spring air outside, but Hestia had insisted that they isolate themselves inside of the room since they had arrived a couple of hours earlier. She claimed that this was to prevent any nosy onlookers from getting inside, but Persephone wondered if perhaps Hestia was actually interested in making sure that she didn’t get out. She continued staring at her reflection, breathing intensely but quietly, hoping to calm herself down, until Hestia’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Athena, dear, would you retrieve the ritual items for me? We need to begin in about twenty minutes.”

Persephone cocked her head, her pulse quickening. Athena promptly began to rummage around in a large black box, the heavy items inside clanking against one another.

“What are the ritual items?” she asked.

“You’ll find out in about fifteen minutes,” Hestia responded with a wink. “In the meantime, why don’t you sit down and have some tea, sweetie? It might help with the nerves.”

Persephone obeyed Hestia’s orders, and Artemis wordlessly passed her a cup of tea as she sat on a chair in the corner of the room, careful not to snag the fabric of her gown.

“Artemis, could you help me with this?” Hestia carefully placed a box of white tea-light candles in Artemis’ hands. Artemis needed no direction; the memory of her own ceremony was still fresh in her mind. She began to place the candles around the circular table in the center of the room.

“What is this?”

“Relax, dear,” Hestia cooed. She stopped buzzing for a moment to kneel down before Persephone and take her hands. Hestia studied the face of the young goddess before her for quite some time, before she finally let out a long sigh. “It’s not going to be any weird physical invasion, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Persephone breathed a sigh of relief, reluctant to admit that, yes, that was exactly what she was thinking.

“Don’t worry, we stopped doing that a few centuries ago,” Athena joked. Or, at least, Persephone hoped that she was joking.

“Look,” Hestia said, squeezing Persephone’s hands. “We’re a small organization. Obviously. And that isn’t because nobody wants to join – it’s that very few _ can _join. And, well, it’s been customary since the founding of the organization that before an initiation can take place, we must be absolutely certain that the initiate is truly a virgin.”

Persephone became motionless. She knew that she should respond – she should nod, or ask a question, or affirm Hestia in some way or another. From the center of the room, Artemis studied Persephone carefully, waiting for a reaction.

“Wh-what do you mean? I’ve never heard about this before.” Persephone asked. Her throat felt as if it were coated in a thick layer of dust.

“It’s nothing extreme,” Hestia said, with what she thought to be a reassuring smile. “We conduct a simple ritual to create an elixir, and then it turns white, and then you’re all good to go. That’s it, sweetheart.”

She paused to get up and cross over to the table, where Athena had placed an intricately carved mortar and pestle; a knife, with a handle made of rose quartz; and a small bowl, which looked to be made of the same material.

“And, well, the reason we don’t tell our initiates is kind of complicated,” Hestia continued. She picked up a matchbook and began lighting each candle, one-by-one. “Unfortunately, a few decades ago, we had a potential initiate who learned of the ritual ahead of time. She decided to try and concoct her own spell so that she could cheat the ritual. She only wanted to join us for her own personal benefit. She had no genuine interest in actually adhering to our values.”

Hestia shook the match out as she lit the final candle. “Since then,” she went on, “We’ve decided it would be best to refrain from telling initiates about the ritual until the day of the ceremony. We simply want to avoid the possibility of anyone trying to cheat their way in. Does that make sense?”

“Sure,” Persephone choked out, managing a smile. Artemis was staring intently at her now. While Athena and Hestia were largely unaware of Persephone’s true nature, Artemis had glimpsed it in the short time they lived together. And while Persephone had mostly succeeded in keeping Artemis unaware of the complicated romance which existed between her and Hades, Artemis could sense the bond which existed between them. It was an inexplicable but palpable connection – and although she had seen very little, Artemis could imply very much.

Hestia sprinkled a few dried leaves and flower petals into the mortar and pestle, and slowly began to churn away until they became a thick dust. Normally, Persephone would have been fixated on this action and likely would have been able to identify the plants, but the realization of what was about to happen began to dawn on her, and it was as if her emotional and spiritual presence completely escaped her physical form, leaving in its place the husk of a small, vulnerable goddess, terrified and alone, despite the women surrounding her. 

On the one hand, she desperately wanted to pass. After all, what had happened with Apollo had hardly been sexual intercourse. She could hear Eros’ voice in her head, insisting that it was rape, that it was wrong, that it was not supposed to _ be _. But on the other hand, she desperately hoped that she might fail. Although she had spent the past several weeks reconciling with her eternal maidenhood, some part of her suddenly wanted no involvement in an organization which excluded women like her. Women who had been hurt. Women who had been used. Women who had no choice.

While this sentiment gave Persephone a fleeting sense of empowerment, it quickly dissipated as Hestia turned off the lights and asked Persephone to stand and approach the table. The candles glowed, just barely providing enough light for Persephone to glimpse into the bowl. The concoction from the mortar and pestle had been poured into a mysterious liquid, which shimmered and glittered in the glow of the candlelight. 

“Persephone, please place your palm in mine. This will only hurt a little, but then it will be over.”

Hestia closed her eyes and began to speak in some ancient tongue. A sharp gasp escaped Persephone’s lips as Hestia quickly thrust their hands over the bowl and drew the blade across Persephone’s palm. Ichor, thick and golden, streamed out over her fingertips and swirled with the strange, shimmering liquid in the bowl below. Persephone squeezed her eyes shut, sweat beading at her forehead, her heart slamming against the walls of her chest.

Artemis was the first to react, the manifestation of her surprise no more than a simple gasp, but enough to break the crushing silence inside the room. Hestia had frozen for a moment, but then suddenly wretched her hand away from Persephone’s as if she had touched something rotten. Athena stared at the ground, an overwhelming sadness taking hold of her.

Persephone finally looked at the elixir. It was pitch black. Briefly, she considered how this seemed to accurately reflect how she felt on the inside: Dark. Wrong. Impure. Unclean.

But before anyone could consider the gravity of the situation, Persephone ran for the door. She knew that if she left through the entrance to the building, she might risk being seen. None of the attendees had been permitted inside yet, so she swung open the doors to the ceremonial hall: the room where she should be initiated in just a few minutes. She sprinted to the very back, where a covert exit was hidden behind the platform.

She continued to sprint through the grass, her legs pumping down the hill. When she reached the edge of the forest, she kept running, and running, and running, with no regard for her surroundings. She tried to fly at one point, but the forest was far too thick for her to navigate a clear path, and her legs felt as if they might give out at any moment, thrusting her into the ground below. She then went back to running, and she did not stop until she thought she might lose consciousness. Finally, she stopped alongside a stream, where she used what little energy she had left to conjure up a thick blanket of flowers and leaves. And then she fell asleep. 


	2. Dusk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hades is caught in the crossfires of Demeter's wrath, which is invoked by information she receives from Hestia and Artemis. Athena and Hecate are less convinced. Meanwhile, a silent stalker finds Persephone asleep in the forest.

In the wake of Persephone’s disappearance, Hestia frantically paced around the room. The crowd had begun to filter into the building, and the nearby sounds of their excitement buzzed in stark contrast to the pure anxiety which consumed the room.

“What is this?” Hestia kept saying. “How could this happen?”

She kneeled down on the floor and grasped Artemis’ shoulders, tears flooding her eyes. “Artemis, please tell me you know something. Was it Hades? Please don’t tell me this was the work of Hades.”

“I tried,” Artemis said, tears flowing down her face now. “I tried, Hestia. I-I thought that Hades was going to stay away from her, but I wasn’t paying close enough attention.”

Hestia sat down at the table now, struggling to comprehend the reality of Artemis’ words. 

“I should have protected her,” Artemis sobbed.

“Maybe I should go announce that the ceremony is canceled,” Athena mumbled. Her presence was a thick and unwelcome fog hovering over Hestia and Artemis, who made no effort to hide their rapidly accumulating rage towards her uncle. Athena, on the other hand, was less inclined to lean into irrational anger at the moment. She could sense that there was something more. Something that had not yet been spoken into existence. Something that Persephone did not _ want _ spoken into existence.

Outside the room, Demeter called Hestia for the fourth time, growing anxious. She had agreed to fulfill the duties of the spring equinox so that Persephone could focus on her ceremony, and her entire body was wracked with exhaustion after having spent the previous 48 hours buzzing about the mortal realm, placing an orderly and refined touch on the landscape. The ceremony promised to offer some celebratory relief, and she carried a small pearl necklace in the pocket of her blazer, a tiny square of parchment attached to it: _ Happy birthday, my sweet girl _. 

Her impatience now overpowering her politeness, she pressed her ear to the door of the preparation room, trying to ascertain what might be happening inside. Just then, Athena stepped out, clearly jarred by the sight of the green goddess in front of her.

“Oh, Demeter,” Athena said. “Hey, why don’t you just stay out here for a minute, okay?”

Demeter paid her no mind and shoved her way into the room. Hestia sat at the table, her head in her hands, tears leaking through her fingers. 

“Athena. Go into the ceremonial hall and make the announcement. Please,” Hestia said, unable to make eye contact with Demeter just yet. Despite her relatively short height, at that moment, the slender green goddess seemed to stand ten feet tall over the table. 

Demeter needed no explanation of the black elixir in the bowl before her. Although she had never been a formal member of the Maidenhood, she volunteered a great deal of time and effort on behalf of the organization, so much so that Hestia often jokingly referred to her as an honorary member. Over the years of its existence, Hestia had frequently sought out Demeter’s wisdom, who, in exchange, was entrusted with various secrets and intricacies of the Maidenhood. 

After all, Demeter was not merely a successful business owner; in Hestia’s eyes, she was a role model of the highest degree, raking in untold fortunes under her own authority, not beneath the thumb of a man. Thus, it came as no surprise to Artemis that the bold and confident Hestia suddenly resembled a terrified puppy beneath the glare of Demeter, who finally snapped out a single word.

“Who?”

Hestia looked to Artemis, both of their eyes wide and filled with tears. Hestia was not afraid merely for herself, but for Artemis, as well. Demeter already resented Artemis for encouraging Persephone to come live with her in Olympus. Not only that, but Demeter had privately confided in Hestia her anxiety over this living arrangement, and Hestia had repeatedly reassured her that Artemis was more than capable of looking after Persephone. 

Now, she would be forced to admit to Demeter that Persephone’s failure had been brought about by the God of the Dead. Hestia tried to think of a being who would bring about the ire of Demeter quite like Hades in this scenario, and she could not imagine a single one.

“Who?” Demeter demanded again, unable to quell the rage in her voice. She began to circle around the table, now towering over Hestia, who suddenly began to regret not having learned the power of disappearance when she was a younger, more malleable goddess.

“Demeter, please,” Hestia said, sobs wracking her voice. “Please understand, I didn’t know. I didn’t know this was happening.”

Demeter’s patience had run out. She grabbed Hestia by the shoulders and shouted in her face, spittle flying from her mouth.

“Hestia, tell me who it was.”

* * *

Just a few steps away, Hecate began to file out with the others.

However, she wasn’t planning to leave just yet. She was worried. Just a couple of weeks earlier, Persephone had confided to Hecate that she was having some serious doubts about her initiation. Hecate was reluctant to defy Demeter’s wishes for her daughter, so initially, she dismissed Persephone’s anxiety as a bit of stage fright. But since then, it had become clear to her that Persephone was experiencing something far more complicated. Something dark. 

For instance, one woman in the office had recently joked that Persephone was so fortunate to have been “unspoiled” by a man. And as much as Hecate loathed the underlying implications of these remarks, she had begun to notice with great concern the way that Persephone reacted to such conversations. It was as if her eyes would suddenly become fixated on some unseen terror, one which threatened to suffocate her at a moment’s notice. 

And so, while Hecate dared not discourage Persephone from going through with the initiation, she hadn’t exactly been cheering it on, either.

Just as she exited the ceremonial hall, she heard a faint, familiar voice coming from a nearby room. She realized then that she had not seen Demeter anywhere, which seemed strange. She slowly approached the room at the same time Athena was returning from making her announcement.

“Hey, Hecate,” Athena said, rushing to block Hecate from opening the door. “Sorry about the ceremony. The exit’s that way.”

“Hecate? Where?” a voice rumbled from the other side of the door. Athena sighed and anxiously wrung her fingers together, clearly not wanting Hecate to become drawn into whatever firestorm of drama was awaiting inside that room.

“Athena, what’s going on?” Hecate asked.

“Hecate, you should just leave,” Athena said, her voice pleading.

Under most circumstances, Athena was known to keep her composure. As the Goddess of Wisdom, she had the keen ability to disperse careful, measured reactions in even the most chaotic of circumstances. But right now, she felt as if she had been punched in the gut. Although she dearly respected the Maidenhood, she could not help but worry for the look of sheer terror that crossed Persephone’s face upon completion of the ritual. 

She also could not help but think of her dear Uncle Hades. For centuries, their close relationship had granted her a rare and intimate glimpse into his personal life. She knew that he often seemed to suffocate beneath the weight of his loneliness. So, it was with a twinge of guilt that Athena began to recognize a complicated emotion settling in her chest, one she dare not share with Hestia: relief at Persephone’s inability to join the Maidenhood. 

Her inner sense of wisdom, usually precise and unaffected by emotion, was thrown off by this sense of relief. After all, she had only recently seen Hades and Persephone together in the same room for the first time, and even then, she observed nothing more than a sidelong glance they cast at one another during a dinner party with Zeus and Hera. But just like Artemis, Athena had felt something palpable in her chest at the sight of them together. 

As the goddesses - and every other creature, in every other realm, for that matter - would eventually learn, this sense of connectedness was not merely a fleeting psychological accident. This was the work of none other than the _ Μοῖραι _, the daughters of Nyx and the spinners of fate, who had woven Aïdōneús and Persephone so closely together that their combined existence practically formed its own cosmological fabric. 

But for now, such a fate seemed a mere blip in the sky in comparison to the ongoing chaos. Hecate’s phone rang then, and she immediately answered when she saw that it was Hades, hoping that he might know where to find Persephone. She stepped away for a moment, and Athena tried to hustle back into the room before Hecate could press any further. But just as the door was about to close, Demeter caught a glimpse of Hecate and grabbed her elbow, pulling her inside.

“Please, Demeter,” Hestia begged. “We really don’t need to drag more people into this.”

The two of them launched into yet another argument then, just barely giving Hecate enough time to bombard Hades with texts, warning him of Demeter’s impending wrath.

“And you,” Demeter snarled, whirling around and shoving a finger in Hecate's chest. “You work with him in that shithole of a realm. How did you not know?”

“Demeter, what are you talking about?” Hecate asked, rolling her eyes. While the other goddesses in the room were frozen in terror by the current manifestation of Demeter’s maternal instincts, Hecate was far more reserved. Demeter began to corner her against the wall. 

"What do you think I'm talking about, Hecate? How could you just let that fucking pervert do this to her?”

“That’s one of my closest friends you’re referring to,” Hecate warned, her eyes narrowing. “And I didn’t let him _ do _ anything to Persephone, who, you may have forgotten, is a grown fucking _ adult _.” 

“Is he here at the ceremony?” Demeter demanded. “Were you with him?"

"Demeter, stop this right now." 

"Where is he, Hecate?"

Demeter approached the door then, and Hecate tried to grab her, but it was too late. The seconds that followed seemed to unfold in slow motion, as Hades fell to the ground beneath Demeter's towering figure, the black liquid dripping down his neck and covering his shirt. Hecate had seen Hades slighted before; she expected his eyes to glow red, his skin to shift until it became a black backdrop for millions of tiny white stars, his rage to swell up inside of him until it came pouring out in waves.

But instead, Hades began to cry. He wept as he looked up at Demeter, dozens of single tears joining to form streams down his cheeks. 

"D-Demeter, I-I-" he started, but she wouldn't let him continue. She grabbed him by his tie and pulled his face up to hers.

Demeter was not known to be a physically powerful god, a fact that she used to resent until she learned to compensate by honing a very different, albeit equally terrifying, form of strength: her tongue. She had the astute ability to identify the vulnerabilities of others, and when antagonized, she could invoke an incomprehensible fury with nothing but her words. And now, as she stood over the god below her, this man who she believed to have stolen away the innocence of her beloved daughter, her verbal wrath manifested with an unmatched intensity.

"Look, Hades," she spat in his face. "I know that the other gods pity you. Poor, little, helpless Hades, swallowed up by his big, bad father and then sent to rule over a lifeless, irrelevant hellhole of a realm in the shadow of his brothers."

The tears continued to flow down his face, and just like Persephone had done so earlier, it was as if his physical body remained fixated in place while his very spirit disappeared, or perhaps, in this case, shattered into a million tiny pieces before floating away into the wind. 

"But me?" Demeter continued. "I don't give a shit. I see right through you. I know you, Hades. I know that you're a fucking coward, using ancient scars to garner pity from those around you. But you don’t _ deserve _ any pity. You're a fucking worthless, disgusting old pervert."

Hecate had refrained from intervening, but at this point, she could practically see Hades folding in on himself. "Demeter, stop," she demanded, slowly advancing on the scene before her. Hades hardly even noticed. His eyes were glazed over, and he sat staring straight ahead, his mind retreating to its darkest recesses. Somewhere inside of himself, he grasped the hand of his younger self, a small, blue boy with a brow knitted into perpetual worry. 

"You may have stolen Persephone's innocence," Demeter continued, "but that is all you will _ ever _take from her. I raised an intelligent daughter, Hades. And no woman with even the slightest bit of self-worth would ever fall for someone - for something - so worthless as you."

"I said, 'stop.'"

Hecate whispered so softly that not even the greatest silence would lend to whatever secrets she was invoking under her breath, and the power pulsed through her skin as she grabbed Demeter by her wrist. Demeter cried out in pain, the silhouette of Hecate’s palm stinging with the black silhouette she left behind as she pulled away, trying to reason with the inconsolable woman before her.

"Demeter, he didn't do this to Persephone."

"I don't want to hear it, Hecate. I can't believe I trusted you. Your precious boss was off hooking up with my daughter, and you somehow had no idea?"

"No, Demeter, I did know. In fact, I encouraged it." 

The two of them were eye-to-eye now, but they were interrupted by a loud snap, followed by a faint fizzing noise. They turned around to find that Hades was gone. All that remained on the floor was the bowl of elixir, now broken into jagged shards of rose quartz, with the remaining drops slowly evaporating into the cold, spring air which blew into the ceremonial hall. 

* * *

Hades had not been to his retreat in a few weeks.

The last time he was there had been with Persephone, after Ares’ antagonistic nature had sapped the young and inexperienced goddess of her strength. She was the only person Hades had allowed inside, and a single, shriveled blue petal on the black hardwood floor served as a cruel reminder of this fact. He recalled with considerable melancholy the way that the soft blue flowers had bloomed forth when he kissed her forehead. The memory made for a strange juxtaposition against Demeter’s words as they played on a loop in his mind.

On the one hand, just a few hours ago he had been awash with sadness at the prospect of Persephone being permanently bound to a vow of eternal virginity, and he should feel relieved that this was no longer the case. But any semblance of happiness could not come close to the words of Demeter, which felt like lead in his skull, black and heavy and close to crushing him beneath their weight.

Then again, Demeter’s words were not so different from what Hades already believed about himself. But for millennia, this self-hatred had existed within the confines of his mind. And while this self-hatred certainly wasn’t a welcome presence, it was one that he had reconciled with, and on his good days, he could at least dismiss the intrusions of self-doubt as psychological insecurities, intangible objects that only existed inside of himself. But now, it was as if Demeter had spoken his faults into existence, and he could no longer grasp to the hope that perhaps he was not some terrible, worthless monster, after all. 

Now, more than ever, his deepest and darkest insecurities seemed real, true, undeniable. They were not just passing thoughts, fleeting vulnerabilities that could be fixed with enough time and growth. As he sat there and played the words through his mind for what seemed like the hundredth time, he began to recognize that Demeter’s words were indisputable facts.

* * *

Deep within the forest, Persephone awoke with a harsh gasp. Not far from where she slept, leaves crumpled beneath the weight of heavy footsteps. It was nearly dusk, and the thick blanket of trees above only made the darkness approach more quickly. Persephone blinked several times, trying to make out a figure in the distance.

“Wh-who’s there?” She asked, her voice timid, unsure if she should give herself away to whatever lurked in the rapidly impending darkness. She spoke more loudly this time, “I said, who’s there?”

The footsteps paused now, and as the figure’s head snapped up, she saw a pair of pale blue eyes glowing just a few feet away. Cerberus whimpered excitedly and bounced towards the fragile goddess, their eyes at the same level, despite the beast standing on four legs and she on two. She heaved a sigh of relief and hugged him, his fur soft against her cheek.

“You scared me, my sweet boy,” she said, his tail wagging as she scratched his ears and kissed the top of his head. She looked up at the sky again, and she began to grow anxious as it became clear that she would not be able to exit the forest before darkness completely consumed Olympus. 

“Come on, do you know how to get us home?” She asked the gentle creature before her, his ears perking up and his tail bouncing back-and-forth as he happily began to trot in the other direction. But as Persephone started to walk behind him, the physical toll of her earlier escape into the forest became painfully evident. She made her best effort to conjure up some strength from deep within her, but it seemed that her spirit had already run dry several hours before.

As the expanse of forest stretched out before them, with no sign of an exit in sight, Persephone’s legs began to wobble beneath her, her coordination faltering as total darkness settled into the sky. The gash in the palm of her hand ached along with her feet, and she could barely make out the sight of pus weeping from the cut, as the skin surrounding it began to pulse, hot and red and raw. She had not had any food or water in several hours, and the edges of her eyesight took on a vignette-like quality, blackness encroaching upon her vision. 

As she and Cerberus reached the bottom of a steep hill, Persephone stopped for a moment to take a deep breath, only to catch her foot beneath a vine. She tripped forward, her knee slamming against a rock beneath her. Her palm scraped against the forest floor, filling the already-angry gash with tiny bits of dirt and moss. She cried out in pain, and Cerberus crouched alongside her, desperate whimpers escaping his throat as he nudged her with his snout.

As the blackness slowly crept further into her line of sight, she mustered up enough strength to outstretch both of her palms and pound them twice against the forest floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Μοῖραι is the Greek phrase used to refer to the Fates.


	3. Rapt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hades is just trying to enjoy his fourth (or fifth? or sixth?) glass of wine when an unexpected sound interrupts him. Demeter presents Persephone with an ultimatum. Fortunately, an unexpected advocate is there to help her. Meanwhile, Athena fails to understand the significance of the strange item she found with Persephone's belongings, but Artemis certainly doesn't seem too happy about it.

Hades swallowed three glasses of wine in relatively quick succession before he decided it best not to kid himself. After all, he was alone in his retreat. Not even his dogs were present to witness this decadent display of self-pity as he resigned himself to drinking directly from the bottle, his stomach radiating warmth as he reclined on the couch.

_ Maybe I should just stop seeing her altogether_, he thought to himself, his arm lazily slung over his forehead as he closed his eyes and sighed. He was certain that Hera could find her a more suitable job somewhere in Olympus. _ A job that doesn’t require her to bear the weight of my bullshit. _

He continued to hold that single blue petal, the sweat of his palms softening the cracked exterior. He studied it for a long time, wondering if perhaps some great revelation would come to him as he laid there, half-drunk, a flower borne of his lover grasped tightly between forefinger and thumb.

“What am I doing?” he groaned, dropping the petal from his hand. It fluttered to the ground as he turned over on his stomach and buried his face in a pillow. He knew that he should head back home soon. He needed sleep - real sleep, not the wine-induced kind that rendered him unconscious on a couch, still wearing a suit that was irreparably covered in thick, black stains.

Just then, he heard it: the sound of summoning. After thousands of years of possessing this power, he had honed his ability to filter out these calls, the vast majority of them dissipating silently into the blackness. Hecate had aided him in the mastery of this skill, for otherwise his mind would be filled with unending visions, the screams of the summoners overlaid in such rapid succession that he would certainly never be able to focus on anything else. 

However, under certain circumstances, the invocation came through, a vignette of the summoning lighting up his brain like a live wire, heated with urgency, unlike the thousands of others which simply fizzled out before he even knew of their existence. 

He stood up suddenly, his limbs warm, his throat coated with the taste of red wine, the sound of two soft _ thumps _ echoing in his ears. His eyes grew wide and his irises shifted to black as leaves materialized beneath his feet, underbrush scratching against his ankles, his dress shoes sinking just slightly into soft soil. Above him, a thick layer of clouds had begun to cross the moon, its hazy glow providing just enough light to make out the sight of Cerberus, whimpering in desperation as he nudged Persephone, who laid unmoving on the ground.

She was curled up there, a bundle of pink flesh and shredded white gossamer and hair, so much hair, her formerly intricate braids now barely visible beneath the knots and curls and leaves and dirt. Hades crouched down beside her, and above the sound of the crickets, he could just barely hear the sound of sobs escaping her throat, her chest rising abruptly with each labored breath. He placed his hand on her back to find that her skin was surprisingly cold beneath the sticky sheen of sweat. 

“Come here, Sweetness,” he sighed, lifting her up into his arms and cradling her against his chest. Using the tips of his fingers, he brushed away tears and flecks of dirt from her cheeks. She looked up at him through heavy eyelids, her physical desperation far outweighing any embarrassment she may have normally felt at allowing Hades to see her in such a condition. He wished that he had brought along a jacket or a blanket for her. In the interim, he figured that he could at least hold her tightly against his chest, her cool skin phasing into warmth against his arms.

“What’s happened to you?” he asked, gently pulling bits of leaves from her hair.

“I ran away,” she said. Her voice was small and barely audible, dehydration having emptied her of life. 

“On your birthday? That won’t do,” he said. Using one hand, he attempted to pull the seemingly endless mess of hair from the ground and twisted it beneath her head so that it was no longer dragging along the forest floor. 

He kneeled like that for a moment, the goddess limp in his arms as he considered his options. He was out of his element, both literally and metaphorically, here in Olympus. For all he knew, an end to the forest path may have been just steps away, or it may have been miles. He was reluctant to transport Persephone elsewhere; certainly, Demeter would be looking for her, and her wrath would undoubtedly unleash itself yet again should she find Hades harboring her somewhere in the Underworld. But as he considered the shallow, ragged breaths of the barely-conscious goddess in his arms, he felt far greater anxiety at the prospect of allowing her condition to decline.

“Hold on tight,” he whispered to Persephone, and before she had any time to react, they were in his living room, her arms still slung around his neck, his hands still holding her against his chest.

Under the light, Hades felt justified in his decision to take Persephone away from Olympus. The gash in her palm had begun to exhibit signs of infection, the skin around it pulsing with crimson heat. Beneath the streaks of dirt and the scratches, her skin appeared dry and dull, robbed of its usual fuschia hue. She still struggled to fully open her eyelids, beneath which her cheeks appeared sullen.

Hades carried her into the living room, where he paid no mind to the dirt and dust clinging to her skin as he settled her body gently on the couch, her head propped up with a pillow. He retrieved a couple of blankets and laid them over her body, and although she was too weak to react with her usual enthusiasm, she immediately curled up beneath the soft, heavy fabric, her shoes landing with a soft _ thud _against the rug as she kicked them off of her feet.

“Wait right here,” Hades said. He wasn’t sure if it was the lingering effects of the alcohol or the sheer emotional fallout of witnessing her in such poor condition, but he kissed her forehead gently before he stood. Had this occurred under normal circumstances, Persephone might have gasped or blushed or burst into a grin or, more likely, all three simultaneously. But even as she laid there, feeling the threat of unconsciousness move gradually closer, she was still able to manage a small smile. Hades returned a moment later, his drunken anxiety having convinced him to haul as many supplies as he could manage to carry in both arms: two bottles of water, a bowl of fruit, a first-aid kit, a towel, and yet another blanket, just for good measure.

“Persephone,” he said softly, fearing that she may be disoriented and not wanting to frighten or overwhelm her, “could you try to sit up for me?”

She nodded weakly. With one hand against the small of her back and the other gently grasping her palm, he helped her to sit up. She drank the water as quickly as her body would allow her, feeling almost immediate relief as the dryness in her throat was satiated. She ate an apple next, her body a bit more wary of solid food, but still grateful for nourishment.

While she took slow, cautious bites of the fruit, Hades began to inspect her hand. As he took time to clean and bandage the wound, Persephone felt her pulse quicken. Not even the most severe exhaustion was enough to completely snuff out the warmth he ignited in her chest, still aglow at his touch. She could feel some semblance of energy replenishing her body, and although she still desperately yearned for a good night’s sleep, she no longer sensed that encroaching blackness in her peripheral vision. 

“Hades,” she said suddenly, grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him closer to her. For a moment, his heart leapt in his chest, both confused and excited by the sudden initiation of physical touch. 

“Persephone? What is it?” His excitement was replaced by anxiety as he realized that she was not looking at him, but at the massive black stain covering his shirt.

“Your clothes,” she said, her voice trailing off. She looked up at him then, her eyes glossing over. Try as he might, there was no way Hades could get out of this. The color, texture, and scent of the stain were unmistakable; it was the black elixir from her Maidenhood ritual. “Wh-what happened?”

“I-I had an argument,” he said, unsure of how much detail to provide. “Demeter and I. We had an argument.”

Just before Persephone could inquire further, there was a knock on the door, the sound sharp and frantic as it echoed throughout the house. Although Hades was grateful for the diversion, he was anxious to see who stood on his porch, his mind already preparing for the inevitable possibility of Demeter standing there, ready to chastise him for a second time that day. He was relieved to find that it was Hecate, standing alone in the rain, her fur coat almost entirely shrouding her body in its thick black cover.

“Hades,” Hecate said. He recognized the distinct pitch of her voice as the sound of impending tears, an incredibly rare occurrence for his dear friend and the Goddess of Witchcraft. She did not hesitate to begin speaking, the anxiety rolling off her tongue. “I know you had a really long day, but I can’t find Persephone anywhere, and I’m worried sick, and I really need you to help me find her, because I have no idea if she’s okay, or if she-”

“She’s fine,” Hades cut her off, placing a hand on her shoulder and gently guiding her inside. “She’s in here.”

Hecate ran towards the goddess where she sat on the couch, still wrought with sadness and confusion by the sight of Hades covered in the elixir and by the vague mention of an argument between himself and Demeter.

“Oh, Persephone,” Hecate sighed, gently taking her bandaged hand and inspecting the rest of her skin, eyeing the myriad of cuts and bruises she had sustained from stumbling through the dark forest for what felt like an eternity. “You poor thing.”

“What happened after I left?” Persephone demanded, not possessing enough patience to indulge Hecate’s desire to dote over the fragile, aching goddess before her.

“Nothing,” Hecate said, shaking her head and turning to face Hades. “Did you get her something to eat?”

“I’m not hungry,” Persephone insisted. “Could someone please tell me what happened?”

“You need a bath. I could help you with your hair, if you’d like.”

“Hecate.”

“Persephone, we need to get you cleaned up and then you need to go back to your mother. I think she might smite the entire mortal realm if she doesn’t find--”

“Tell me what happened after I left,” Persephone snapped. Her eyes glowed red for a moment before shifting back to their normal color. Her voice was barely audible now. “Please. Please, someone just tell me what happened.”

Hades sat awkwardly beside the two goddesses, still unsure of how much to tell her. Although the wine had temporarily softened the edge of Demeter’s words, they were still a permanent fixture in his brain, humiliating and debilatating in their impact. Hecate glanced at him as if to ask for permission. He sighed and looked at the ground before standing.

“Hecate, you know where the bathroom is. Why don’t you get her cleaned up and then take her back?”

“But wait,” Persephone said, her hands balling into fists. She wanted to stand up and follow him to wherever he may be going. More than that, she wanted to reach up and grab his hands and ask him to hold her, the same way he held her when he found her just a short while ago in the forest. 

“Come on, Persephone,” Hecate said, placing a hand on her shoulders and helping her to stand. “I have some clean clothes in my car that you can borrow. Why don’t you get cleaned off, and then we’ll talk on our way over?”

* * *

Persephone felt marginally better after having had a hot shower; her skin was no longer smeared with dirt, the vast majority of her hair now lay in shorn chunks in a plastic bag in Hades’ trash can, and Hecate’s loose black clothes felt comfortable against her skin. They were now headed for Hestia’s home, where she and Demeter awaited the arrival of Persephone. Hecate claimed that she had found Persephone in the woods, and both goddesses seemed far too concerned by the other events of the day to ask any questions, for which Hecate was grateful. But as they sped through the Underworld and headed for Olympus, Persephone was growing insurmountably annoyed that she still had not learned what happened after her absence.

“Hecate, please,” she begged for what seemed like the hundredth time. 

“Persephone,” Hecate sighed. “I already told you, it will only upset you. You’ve had an incredibly long and horrible day, and I don’t want to make it worse.”

Persephone could feel that familiar anger boiling inside of her again, but this time, mixed with a burning desire to exit the car, fly back to the Underworld, and ask Hades to hide her from whatever confrontation awaited them in Olympus. The simultaneous sadness and anger was a toxic combination, and Hecate could not help but notice as Persephone’s newly short hair lengthened just a little bit. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, tiny red vines began to come forth from her scalp.

“Shit. Okay, just give me a second, alright?” Hecate said, not particularly thrilled at the prospect of a young goddess manifesting her mostly-uncontrolled powers within the confines of her vehicle. She pulled over into an empty parking lot, rain beating down on the windshield as she took Persephone’s hands in her own. 

“I’m not very good at this, but it’s a short memory, so I think it’ll work. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, alright? Now, close your eyes, Persephone,” she said, watching carefully as Persephone followed her orders. Hecate took a deep breath and then squeezed her eyes shut, the ancient chant almost indistinguishable from the sound and volume of her breath. A moment later, Persephone’s eyes unwittingly snapped open wide, her irises glowing white as Hecate’s memory played out before her.

The sensory experience of sharing Hecate’s memory was disorienting, very much like a dream, but one so vivid that it could easily be mistaken for present reality. She could hear the smack of her mother’s heels against the marble floor, the thud of Hades’ body as it slammed into the marble column behind him, the echo of the bowl as it shattered across the floor. She could see the unrestrained rage in her mother’s eyes, the thick black elixir as it dripped like maple syrup down Hades’ neck, the tears pouring relentlessly from his eyes, red and swollen with sorrow.

Hecate pulled her hand away, anxiously awaiting Persephone’s reaction, bracing herself for the possibility that her rage might manifest. Instead, Persephone clasped her hands over her mouth, a visceral reaction to the bile rising in her throat. 

“A-and then I summoned him,” she said aloud, horrified by the realization that she had called for Hades just a couple of hours after he had been verbally and physically tormented by her mother. “She said such horrible things to him … She said them on _ my _behalf. Hecate, what have I done?”

“You did nothing wrong,” Hecate said, immediately pulling Persephone into a tight embrace. This was precisely what Hecate had feared. Persephone sobbed relentlessly into her shoulder, overcome with pure shame and humiliation.

“Persephone,” Hecate said, trying not to let the anxiety break her voice entirely. “I know this is hard, but we have to go back now.”

“I can’t face her,” Persephone sobbed. “Not after what she did.”

“You don’t have to face her alone,” Hecate said. “I’ll go with you, dear one.”

* * *

Demeter, Hestia, Persephone, and Hecate sat around the dining room table, the tension and anxiety between them hanging like a thick, noxious fog. Hestia spoke in a quiet, level voice, giving no indication as to the knot in her stomach which threatened to give way to an ocean of tears at any second. To some extent, she pitied the young goddess before her. But for the most part, she was concerned with the prospect of damage control. 

Having scored the Goddess of Spring was a major win for the Maidenhood, and Hestia had been looking forward to publicly declaring that Persephone’s young, vibrant, and well-loved face would be joining the ranks. But now, she was met with a publicity nightmare, and the tabloids were already sinking their teeth in. She had only read one headline thus far - _ HESTIA’S VIRGIN CULT PLUNGES FURTHER INTO IRRELEVANCE _ \- and that was enough to prevent her from inspecting the damage any further, at least until she had extinguished the immediate fire which blazed before her.

“Persephone, as I’m sure you may have inferred by now, you are no longer an inductee of The Goddesses of Eternal Maidenhood, effective immediately.”

She cleared her throat and glared at Persephone from over the edge of her clipboard. Persephone refused to break away the venomous gaze she fixed upon her mother. Hestia took a deep breath and continued, “As such, you are henceforth barred from accessing any services and benefits of the Maidenhood, including, but not limited to, your academic scholarship, your housing, and any materials we have provided to you.”

“Her housing?” Hecate interjected.

“Yes,” Hestia said coolly, not even bothering to look up from her papers. Both Hestia and Demeter had anticipated that Persephone would speak with them alone, and neither were particularly thrilled that the Goddess of Witchcraft had volunteered to act as her advocate. Hestia went on to explain, “As a fully inducted member, Artemis is living in a home that was purchased using Maidenhood funds. Seeing as Persephone has lived with Artemis up until now, she has also been benefiting from this arrangement, and can no longer receive such a benefit as she has violated the terms of her initiation.”

“Got it,” Hecate said, her jaw clicking in place. 

“If I may continue,” Hestia said, dropping the clipboard down onto the table with a _ smack_, in an attempt to garner Persephone’s attention. She finally made eye contact with Hestia, but her glare hardly softened. “I believe your shoes and jewelry are also property of the Maidenhood. As such, I must ask that you return these articles of clothing immediately.”

“Her shoes? Are you fucking serious?” Hecate hissed, standing up with her palms pressed against the table.

“Yes,” Hestia said, rising up to meet Hecate’s height. “In fact, Hecate, since you seem to be so interested in Persephone’s conditions, I would be happy to revisit the finer details of her _ signed _ contract, which clearly states that an initiate’s benefits must immediately be cut off upon violation of our terms. Meaning, Persephone could describe for us precisely when she lost her virginity, and I could ask her to write a check for all of the benefits she’s been receiving since then. How does that sound?”

Hecate’s hands curled into fists, and she glared at Demeter, waiting for her to do something, anything, to defend her daughter. Demeter continued to sit, arms crossed, silent but for the sound of her breathing, slow and measured.

“Now, Persephone,” Hestia said, smiling as Hecate slumped back down in her chair. “I’ll cut you some slack, seeing as you’ve embarrassed yourself and the organization enough for one day. Do you have any questions about what I’ve just said?”

“No,” Persephone mumbled, tears welling up in her eyes at the very thought of being forced to sit there and recount the details of the “loss” of her “virginity” for Hestia and her mother. As she unclasped the pearl bracelet from her wrist, she felt some semblance of relief at the thought of snapping it into pieces.

“Very good,” Hestia said, gathering her things in her arms and heading for the door. “Athena and Artemis are currently gathering up your belongings from the apartment. You should retrieve them within the hour. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe your mother would like a word with you, and I intend to respect her wishes.” She glared at Hecate. “I’ll be in my office as I attempt to reckon with the publicity mess that you’ve created. Farewell.”

“Well? Are you done, or do you intend to continue babysitting Persephone while she has a conversation with her mother?” Demeter quipped as the door to Hestia’s office slammed shut down the hallway. She stared expectantly at Hecate. 

“I want her here,” Persephone interjected. 

“Fine,” Demeter said, waving her hand dismissively. She looked away from Hecate and kept her eyes squarely on her daughter. “Persephone, I’m not even sure what to say right now.”

“How could you?” She demanded through gritted teeth.

Demeter cocked her head, and her smug exterior began to shift into one of annoyance as Persephone stood up from the table, her capacity for politeness having expired the moment Hestia left the room.

“I’m sorry, excuse me?” Demeter asked. “What in the world is going _ on_, Persephone?”

“I’m talking about Hades, mother. I’m disgusted.”

Demeter laughed now. It was a hearty and incredulous laugh, and her amusement only further provoked Persephone’s rage. From the corner of her eye, Hecate watched as Persephone - who, just a short time ago, had hardly been able to stand - began to levitate, ever so slightly.

“Kore, don’t be so dramatic,” Demeter continued. “I, for one, cannot believe that you are defending that disgusting pervert after he ruined your future. Clearly, being down here in Olympus has rotted your brain, so I think it’s time for you to go home. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I don’t want to go home with you. I’m not a little kid anymore. You can’t just put me in time-out whenever I break your precious rules,” Persephone was shouting now. Her fingernails lengthened into claws, and her eyes glowed a deep crimson red, not dissimilar from the color of mortal blood. 

“Fine,” Demeter snapped, standing up now to match her daughter’s posture. “But you heard Hestia, didn’t you? You don’t have a home here anymore, Kore. And your scholarship is gone, so it would appear that you don’t have any educational purpose to fulfill here, either. You gave these things up when you decided to break the rules of your contract with the Maidenhood.”

Hecate noticed with silent reverence that Persephone had begun to cry, her tears the same color as her eyes: red as mortal blood.

“You have two choices,” Demeter continued. “You can come home with me, and despite the completely _ reprehensible _ choices you’ve made for yourself, I can help you try to salvage some sort of future from this mess. Or, if you’d like, I can just leave you here to figure it out for yourself. You’re an adult now, right?”

“Really?” Persephone growled. “So, that’s it? Either I can let you lock me up for the rest of my life, or you’ll just leave me here to fend for myself? How generous of you, mother. I’m glad you’re putting all of that money to good use.”

“I raised my daughter with ambition. I don’t know what this is,” Demeter spat out, gesturing wildly at the infuriated and energetic young goddess before her, “but I certainly won’t enable you to live out your fairytale dream as a personal concubine for the worthless god of a worthless realm.” 

“She can come and live with me,” Hecate interjected, uncertain of the idea as it came out of her mouth. Truthfully, she was terrified to cross Demeter. But after having witnessed the reckless rage she had directed at Hecate’s closest friend earlier that day, she was feeling less sympathetic for Demeter’s maternal instincts, and more concerned for Persephone’s well-being. 

“Oh, is that so?” Demeter said, a venomous smile crossing her face. “Well, isn’t that sweet of you, Hecate? I’m sure a barren old witch like you will do an excellent job of caring for my daughter.” 

“Don’t you dare speak to Hecate like that.”

Persephone ascended further into the air now, and she bent forward to look directly in her mother’s eyes, the thorns expanding forth from her scalp and seeming to gravitate towards Demeter’s neck. 

“Persephone,” Hecate said, growing nervous. Persephone’s powers clearly hinted at the justification for her recently acquired name, and Hecate knew that a goddess of her age was unlikely to have much mastery over her energy. “Let’s go.”

Although Demeter was known to maintain a hard, immovable exterior, Persephone noticed her bottom lip begin to quiver ever so slightly as she stared at the furious, inconsolable young woman before her. Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime of silence, she spoke, her voice barely audible.

“What did he do to you?”

Persephone considered this question for a moment. Had Demeter been referring to Apollo, Persephone likely would have agreed that this pure, unadulterated fury was borne of trauma, deep and black and rooted in her heart, like some parasitic mass that threatened to rot her from the inside out. But she could not bring herself to speak this into existence. Not now. She merely continued to stare at her mother, her blood-red eyes unblinking, unforgiving, unwilling to tear themselves away from a scene happening somewhere far away, somewhere deep within the recesses of her mind.

“Goodbye, Persephone,” Demeter said quietly, but not before she reached into the pocket of her blazer and pulled out the tiny pearl necklace, which she placed gingerly in Persephone’s hand. The moment Demeter slammed the front door shut behind her, Persephone fell to the floor with a thud, and the thorns slowly disentegrated back into normal strands of hair. 

“Persephone,” Hecate said again, her voice much softer this time. She gathered the goddess up in her arms, and although Hecate wasn’t much larger, she pulled her up off the floor and kept an arm around her waist as they walked alongside one another to the exit. 

“Come on, dear one,” Hecate said. “Let’s go home.”

* * *

Hecate and Persephone pulled into Artemis’ driveway. Both of them were exhausted, but Hecate worried that Hestia might simply dispose of Persephone’s belongings if they did not come to retrieve them within the hour, as she had specified. A small pile of boxes sat in the driveway, just barely covered by the overhanging balcony. The rain was coming down in sheets now, dampening the cardboard.

“Hey,” Athena said, running out to greet Hecate and Persephone, her warm smile a welcome change. Athena leaned down to hug Persephone; it was a long and genuine embrace, and she scruffed up Persephone’s hair as she pulled away. 

“Sorry, I bet this isn’t what you expected for your twentieth birthday,” she said with a sad smile. 

“Shit!” Hecate gasped. “Oh, shit, I completely forgot! It is your birthday, isn’t it? Oh, you poor thing.” 

“It’s okay,” Persephone said, smiling weakly in spite of herself. “This isn’t exactly a day that I’d like to remember.” 

“Well, let me help you with this. This is everything,” Athena said, gesturing towards the boxes. Hecate was a bit stunned to see just how little Persephone owned. She realized with a twinge of sadness that the young goddess had likely never been given the resources - or the option, really - to acquire her own belongings. She simply lived as an extension of her mother, or, in this case, the Maidenhood. 

“Do you think Artemis will come say goodbye?” Persephone wondered aloud, taking a small box in her arms while Athena effortlessly stacked four boxes atop one another and moved them into the trunk of Hecate’s SUV. 

“I’m sorry, Persephone,” Athena said. “She was pretty upset. Today was really overwhelming for her, and then when she and I were packing up your stuff, she just totally lost it.”

“Oh?” Persephone asked. Panic gripped her, then, as a troubling realization dawned on her.

“Yeah, it was weird. I was packing up some stuff from your dresser, and I found this little harp-looking-thing. Artemis just started screaming and crying, and she grabbed it from me and then disappeared into her room. To be honest, I haven’t seen her since. Any idea what that’s about?”

Under any other circumstance, Persephone would be absolutely delighted at the reference to Apollo’s lyre as a “little harp-looking-thing.” But at that moment, she felt as if her spirit had been beaten to a bloody pulp over the course of the past several hours. She simply didn’t have the energy to absorb the reality of what Athena had just told her.

“No idea,” Persephone said, shutting the trunk with a _ thud. _

“Well, hey, kiddo,” Athena said, spreading her arms to give Persephone a goodbye hug. “I know today sucked, but between you and me, I respect you just as much as I did yesterday. I’m always here if you need me, okay? I mean it.” 

“Thanks, Athena,” Persephone said, warmth radiating from the magnificent gray goddess as she embraced her. “I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

“I’m sure you will. I’ve been meaning to come visit my Uncle Hades more often,” Athena said with a wink. For the first time that day, Hecate couldn’t help but smile a little to herself as both she and Athena watched Persephone timidly purse her lips and turn dark red at the very mention of the King of the Underworld.

Meanwhile, inside the house, Artemis was finally alone. She picked up the phone and glanced through the blinds to be absolutely sure that both Athena and Hecate’s headlights had disappeared into the dark downpour outside before she called her brother and left a voicemail.

“Hey, Apollo. So, I’m sure you heard about Persephone by now. The thing is, I was just packing up her stuff a little bit ago, and I found something in her bedroom that belongs to you. I don’t really understand why she had it, but ... I’d rather just talk to you about it in person, if that’s okay. I’ll be here tomorrow morning if you can come by and pick it up.”


	4. Cosmos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hades and Minthe have a little chat.

Hades sank deeper into his bath, knots of tension coming undone as tendrils of steam curled around his limbs. With his eyes shut and the water up to his chin, he lazily extended his hand to the small wooden table beside him and felt around for his glass of wine. The past couple of hours had been sobering, to say the least, and although the clock was nearing midnight, anxiety hung on his shoulders like some demonic presence, taunting him with the threat of insomnia.

Just as the wine touched his lips, the doorbell rang. For a moment, he considered not answering it. But then it rang again, and again, and again, the third time punctuated with the rapping of knuckles against the front door. He hurried to put on his robe, stray drops of water trailing behind him as he rushed down the hallway. 

“Gods, help me,” he whispered to himself, a flash of crimson skin visible through the windows aligning his front door. In all the turmoil of the day, he completely forgot that Minthe was planning to come and spend the night. 

“Thanks for answering my texts,” Minthe huffed, pulling him by the sash of his robe and planting a kiss on his cheek as he opened the front door. Even if Hades didn’t know Saturday to be Minthe’s designated “Girl’s Night” with Thetis, he could have guessed by her short, slinky black dress and the scent of gin on her breath that she had just come from the bar. She immediately strutted into his bedroom, where she flopped onto his bed and settled into the pillows with little regard for the hem of her dress, which now ran parallel to the black lace panties beneath. 

“I almost didn’t come, you know,” she continued.  _ What a shame that would have been _ , Hades mused to himself.

“I’m happy to see you too, darling,” he said dryly, taking a moment to retrieve his glass of wine from the bathroom. He walked slowly to where Minthe lay in bed, her face illuminated by the faint glow of her phone, her thumb scrolling across the screen. He sat down beside her and she immediately curled up against his chest, resting her fingers strategically on his inner thigh.

“So,” she said, not skipping a beat, “I’m guessing you’re pretty happy today, hm?”

“And why would that be?” he asked, drinking his wine in a single pull. Judging by the tone of Minthe’s voice, he figured he may need the alcohol for whatever antics she planned to subject him to.

“Your little flower princess is back on the market,” she said, studying his face for a reaction. Disappointed that he didn’t immediately respond, she couldn’t help but sink her teeth in further, the liquor fueling her impulsivity. “Come on, didn’t you see the news? She was kicked out of that virgin pyramid scheme.” 

Over the past several weeks, Minthe had been making an honest effort to reel in her jealousy as she and Hades worked to salvage what little fulfillment could be found buried in the ashes of their relationship. That being said, she could not help but resent the Goddess of Spring. She, like so many others, could sense something inexplicable between Hades and Persephone. It felt powerful. It felt tangible. More than anything, to Minthe, it felt threatening.

“You know I don’t give a shit about those garbage gossip websites you call ‘news’,” Hades quipped. “Besides, I thought you agreed to stop bringing her up.”

“Relax,” Minthe cooed, smiling coyly as she climbed on top of him, her slender legs straddling his abdomen. “Someone’s on edge today, hm?”

“Just a long day,” he sighed. “Work stuff.”

“On a Saturday? That’s no good,” she said. She gently took the empty wine glass from his hand and placed it on his bedside table before leaning in to kiss his neck. “Sounds like you need to relax, no?”

For all of her toxicity and venom, this was precisely what made Hades stay. Minthe’s tendency for manipulation was no accident. No, she was deliberate in her recklessness. It was as if she were attuned to some internal thermometer gauging Hades’ emotions, and she expertly calculated a precise dose of antagonism, scalding him with carefully chosen words and stinging insults. Then, just as the heat swelled up inside of him and brought him to the brink of boiling over, she dispensed the perfect dose of affection, a cool and comforting balm against her blistering heat. 

She lowered her breasts against his chest, the hem of her dress sliding up further as she curved her pelvis against his. She kissed him, her hands carefully undoing the sash of his robe and teasing the hem of his boxers. As she planted her lips along his jaw, throat, shoulders, torso, abdomen, thighs, Hades considered how this, too, was a carefully calculated equation. 

Truthfully, he did not particularly  _ want _ to have sex with Minthe, nor she with him. Rather, this was a need, an obligation, a routine operation akin to drinking water, not for the taste, but for the simple fact that it is necessary to function. In this case, sex was not for pleasure, but for the simple fact that it maintained an illusion of intimacy amidst the wreckage of their relationship.

After all, the sex had never been particularly meaningful, not even on their better days. Hades never whispered “I love you” as Minthe climaxed in his arms, her thighs tensing and trembling around his fingers. Minthe never held Hades’ face in her hands and stared deeply into his eyes as he fucked her, a single sharp moan escaping his lips as he went limp against her bare skin. Neither of them ever felt particularly compelled to slow down, to punctuate each movement with tangible affection, to enjoy the warmth of one another’s vulnerability following the release. Every time was more or less the same: hot, fast, gritty, a little rough around the edges. 

That being said, the act was not completely devoid of its benefits. When paired with a belly full of wine, the post-orgasm release was an excellent antidote to insomnia. He and Minthe dozed off with their backs to one another, and he could at least be grateful for the simple blessing of a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

“Good morning,” Hades mumbled, his eyelids still heavy as he rolled over in bed the following morning. He felt around for Minthe, only to find that he was alone. This was highly unusual; Minthe was a creature of the night, and Hades knew her to sleep well into the afternoon when left undisturbed. As he stepped into his robe and walked sleepily towards the kitchen to make a pot of coffee, he noticed with a twinge of guilt that he did not feel particularly disappointed by Minthe’s unexpected absense. Rather, he felt relieved.

Unfortunately, his relief was short-lived. Minthe was perched on a barstool at the kitchen island, her foot bouncing up and down, nails clacking against the marble counter top, teeth gnawing at her lower lip. He knew that look, and he knew it well: Minthe was pissed. Feeling unprepared for whatever barrage of insults she had already compiled in her mental arsenal, Hades did not bother to ask her what was wrong, and simply continued to the cabinet so that he could select a bag of coffee. The moment his back was turned, she struck. 

“I thought you were busy with ‘work stuff’ yesterday,” she said.

“I was,” he said flatly. While he didn’t particularly enjoy being dishonest, not even towards Minthe, he reasoned that saving one of his interns from the brink of death fell under the category of “work duties,” right?

“That’s interesting,” she spat, dropping her phone onto the countertop with a  _ smack _ , “because I just read a fascinating story about how you were spotted at the virgin pyramid scheme party. They even included some adorable photos of you getting your ass kicked by the flower queen’s mom.”

“I already told you, I don’t read those garbage tabloids,” he sighed, not particularly surprised that some journalist had spotted the confrontation. “But yes, I briefly went to the ceremony, along with dozens of other people. And yes, I had an argument with Demeter. We’ve disliked each other for, oh, I don’t know, a couple thousand years now. This isn’t exactly groundbreaking stuff, Minthe.”

“Right,” Minthe said, waving her hand dismissively, as if she were swatting at a fly. “But why, exactly, was Barley Bitch so angry at you? The general consensus seems to be that her precious daughter was kicked out for sleeping around, and I just can’t  _ possibly _ imagine why Demeter would be angry at  _ you _ for that, so why don’t you enlighten me?”

“Minthe,” he warned, far too emotionally spent to have this conversation for what felt like the millionth time. “Can we please not do this?”

Minthe cleared her throat dramatically, and as Hades turned around from the coffee pot, he noticed that she had been obscuring something in her lap throughout the entire conversation. 

“I’m sorry, did you want to talk about something else instead?” she asked, her voice suddenly thick with saccharine sarcasm. As her hands unfolded, two wads of paper and a small velvet box fell onto the countertop. “How about these gifts I found in your desk?”

“Why the hell were you in my study?” he demanded, his eyes narrowing. He knew by now that it was best not to engage with Minthe whenever she became consumed by that dark, all-consuming rage. But even in her lowest, most unforgivable moments, she had never gone so far as to invade his personal privacy like this.

“Well, you see,” she started out, practically giddy with malice, “I woke up a little while ago to use the bathroom, and I couldn’t help but notice an adorable little white dress and a bag of pink hair in your trash can - which, by the way, is fucking weird. So, then, I got to reading about Demeter’s temper tantrum, and I just couldn’t help but wonder what else you weren’t telling me.”

_ Shit,  _ he thought to himself, internally chastising himself for not discarding Persephone’s belongings.

“Now, Hades, I have to admit,” she continued, unfolding one wad of paper and flattening it out on the countertop. “I wouldn’t normally condone snooping through your stuff like this, but I was just  _ dying _ to know what the deal is with you and Persephone. Lucky for me, it wasn’t too hard to put two and two together once I checked your desk drawer.”

Hades stared at this pure manifestation of fury sitting behind his kitchen counter, guilt and shock and humiliation swirling together to create a toxic combination that left him motionless. He simply watched as Minthe held up the small piece of lavender parchment paper, the black ink now smeared by the sweat of her palms. 

“Dearest Persephone,” she recited, her voice sugar-sweet and simultaneously dripping with venom. “Happy twentieth birthday. I cannot thank you enough for all of the comfort, happiness, and compassion you have showed me. Whatever your future may hold, I am certain that it will be as beautiful and as lovely as you are. Yours, Hades.”

She crumpled the note back into a ball and pelted it onto the ground before flattening the other letter on the countertop. This one was far lengthier, both the front and back filled to the margins with neatly cramped handwriting. Hades immediately recognized it, and a lump formed in his throat.

“Now, I’ll admit, that one wasn’t too bad,” Minthe said, glancing up to look at Hades. She was delighted by his horrified facial expression, and she could practically feel the adrenaline as it leaked into her bloodstream, surging through her veins. “But this next one is really something. I’m sure you remember this sweet little love note you wrote for your precious virgin princess, so I’ll just skip the poetic bullshit and get to my favorite part.”

Hades’ jaw clicked, and he could have sworn he felt the enamel of his teeth grind away with the pressure. He was still recovering from the psychological turmoil of the previous day, and he certainly wasn’t ready for this. Not now. Not ever, really. But especially not now.

“M-Minthe,” he said, struggling to speak through what felt like cotton in his throat. “Minthe, look. I-I just had a moment of confusion when I met her, okay? I wanted to make sense of things, so, I wrote that weeks ago, but you know that we aren’t like that.”

Even as the words came tumbling out of his mouth, he knew that they were useless. Minthe’s rage was an unstoppable beast, one who gained satisfaction only from devouring everything in its path.

“I’m going to give Minthe and I a chance to be in a proper relationship,” she recited, her fingers nearly shredding the paper with the force of her grip. “I don’t know if I want her or if I just feel guilty.”

“Minthe,” Hades attempted, the ache of anxiety gripping at his chest now, “please just allow me to talk about this. I-I know I got too emotionally invested in her, a-and you don’t deserve that. But--”

“But what, Hades?” Minthe demanded, jumping up from her seat so that they were eye-to-eye, hers filled with a familiar fury, his filled with a familiar melancholy. She grabbed his arm with the same force she had been using to grip the letter, drawing tiny drops of ichor as her nails began to puncture his skin.

“B-but that’s over,” he insisted, desperate to satiate the beast gripping his arm. “Yes, I … I was a little bit confused when I first met her, a-and you and I had a rough patch. But I, I mean, I hardly even talk to Persephone now. A-and you and I agreed to move past this, remember?” 

“Okay, so, what am I? Just something to bide your time until you need that stupid little bitch to come along and make you forget that you’re an insufferable, washed-up god ruling over the most lifeless, most miserable realm in the known universe?” 

“You can’t talk to me that way,” he said, his words completely devoid of conviction.

“Fuck you, Hades,” she hissed. She jerked her hand away, leaving five long, shallow slashes in her wake, each lightly pooling with ichor. “You’re absolutely insane if you think that you’re doing me a favor by staying with me. And if that flowery little cunt thinks you’ll bring her anything but misery and disappointment, then she’s even stupider than I thought.”

“M-Minthe. Ple-please, just s-stop,” he begged, no longer able to keep his voice from cracking.

“‘P-p-please, j-j-just s-s-stop.’ You’re pathetic,” she spat out, knowing that her mockery would penetrate through to one of Hades’ most vulnerable spots. He was prone to stuttering when he became significantly overwhelmed, and try as he might, the habit was all but impossible to break. After all, the tendency was rooted in trauma from his childhood, those 13 long and lonely years of darkness nearly rendering him mute in the immediate aftermath.

The crude imitation of his broken voice triggered the flicker of a memory, faded visuals flashing through the static. The eternal loneliness. The loss of seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, years. The crushing weight of shame and humiliation when he realized that his capacity for language had disintegrated into that cold, isolated blackness. As the fragments of memories flashed through his mind, Demeter’s words rang in his ears:  _ A fucking coward, using ancient scars to garner pity from those around you _ .

“Get out of my house, Minthe. We’re finished,” he said. Minthe noticed his irises light up with an almost imperceptible flash of crimson, like a poisonous insect baring its wings. In a single blink, the color was gone.

“Yeah, well, whatever. We’re finished, like, every other week, so I’ll see you in a day or two when you get lonely and decide you want me back,” she quipped. She rounded the corner of the kitchen and headed for the back door, where she dramatically flipped her hair over her shoulder before buttoning up her jacket.

“I mean it,” Hades said, slowly advancing towards her. She kept her back turned as she leaned down to buckle her heels into place around her ankles. “And you know what? I don’t want you working for me anymore, either. You’re fired, Minthe.”

“Wow, look at you, standing up for yourself,” she said with an incredulous laugh, still refusing to face him as she casually adjusted her outfit and reached for the handle of the door. Her amusement only further fueled the fire in Hades’ gut. “I’ll see you in the office tomorrow, Hades. Oh, and don’t forget that cute little necklace you made for Persephone. I think I added a nice touch, don’t you?”

He quickly turned back towards the kitchen and opened the small black velvet box where Minthe had dropped it onto the countertop. He found the chain snapped into several pieces, the onyx pendant shattered into irreparable chunks. 

Just then, as Minthe opened the door to leave, she found that the door wouldn’t budge. “Come on, fucking piece of shit,” she muttered to herself, using the full weight of her body to turn the lock, but to no avail. In the spacious kitchen behind her, Hades remained completely still, his breath silent so as not to betray the transformation taking place. Minthe continued to fiddle with the door for another moment before she finally whirled around. “Could you please fix this fucki-”

She stopped mid-sentence, an awestruck gasp taking hold of her breath. Her composure, so confident and self-assured just a moment earlier, faltered as her joints suddenly began to tremble. Her ankles twitched beneath her quivering legs, and she slowly backed into the door to steel herself.

Hades stood just inches from Minthe, his skin illuminated with the iridescent darkness of a solar eclipse. His eyes glowed with blinding intensity, pale blue and ferocious and unblinking. His bident materialized in his left hand, which began to pulse with a strange static energy as his grip tightened around the massive black weapon, almost as if it were an innate appendage of his body, an extra limb twice the height of Minthe. He kept his face level with hers for several seconds before he spoke. His voice was somehow deeper, darker, possessing an inexplicable and terrifying reverberation around the edges, as if each word resonated within the bottomless pit of the underworld itself.

“Have you forgotten who I am?” he asked.

“Hades, w-what are you doi-”

He reached out and held his thumb and forefinger beneath her trembling chin, gently tilting her face upwards so that she was forced to meet his gaze. Her pupils shrank to the size of pinpoints, her vision shimmering and dancing and doubling in the presence of such blinding light. 

“I asked you a question, Minthe.”

“Y-you’re scaring me,” she said, her voice barely audible. Her ears began to ring, that strange static around his voice piercing something at the base of her spine with an electrifying intensity.

“Since you cannot seem to remember, allow me to remind you,” he said. “I am your king, Minthe. Everything in this realm - from the clothes you wear, to the ground beneath your feet, to the very air you breathe - is mine, and mine alone. Do you understand this?”

She nodded, unable to speak.

“And yet, you seem to have forgotten your place,” he continued, cocking his head ever so slightly. “You are graciously invited into the home of the King of the Underworld, the God of the Dead, the Ruler of the Realm in which you live - and how do you express your gratitude? You engage in disgraceful, infantile temper tantrums. You succumb to selfish, impulsive urges for violent behavior. Most of all, you continually exhibit an absolutely inexcusable level of disrespect.”

“I-I’m sorry, Hades. Please, ple-” she began, her breath cut short as he moved his face closer to hers, his fingers still beneath her chin, her eyes watering involuntarily in the illumination of his gaze. 

Minthe knew of Hades’ various forms, and she had seen his capacity for transformation in rare glimpses as he performed his duties in the Underworld. But for the first time, she was the catalyst for this transformation, and she could practically feel her the threads of her spirit being ripped apart at the seams. The god before her bore resemblance to a galaxy, his core comprised of a supermassive black hole, pulling everything into his orbit with unrelenting force. If one could overcome the sheer terror of the sight, it was nothing short of pure magic.

“And not only do you disrespect me,” Hades continued, “but you show no remorse for your actions. You seem to have the impression that your utterly disgraceful behavior is somehow justified, that you are simply immune to any retribution for the destruction that you cause. But are you so foolish to believe that you actually hold power over me, Minthe?”

“Let me go,” she said, her voice trembling as she reached behind her to try the lock yet again, only to find that it was still firmly stuck in place. Her mind had become hazy, as if Hades had cracked opened her skull, removed its contents, and replaced the empty space with smoke. 

“You should know by now,” Hades continued, unaffected by the desperation in her voice, “how I dispense justice. What am I to do with this lowly nymph, whose arrogance seems to have deluded her into believing that she may be immune to the wrath of the God of the Dead?”

“I said, let me go,” she repeated through gritted teeth.

“I have banished subjects to the very depths of Tartarus for far, far less,” he said. He casually tapped his fingers along the handle of his bident, an audible electric current humming in response. His other hand still lightly held Minthe’s chin, ensuring that she could not cast her eyes down from the otherworldly gaze bearing into her.

“Fine. I won’t work at your fucking office anymore. Is that what you want?” she asked. She reached up to yank his hand away from her face, and immediately cried out in pain as her palm made contact with his skin, feeling as if her hand had been thrust into boiling water. She began to shake more intensely as she held her raw, blistering fingers close to her chest.

“You are no longer welcome in the Underworld,” Hades said, giving no indication that he even noticed the sickly, flesh-curling burn on Minthe’s hand. “You have ten days, and then you will leave my realm.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she snarled. “You’re banishing me?”

“On second thought, there may be another option,” he said nonchalantly, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “A river nymph like you would be well suited to a lifelong assignment on the banks of the River Styx. You would most certainly stink of death, but you seem to be accustomed to the stench by now, no?”

“Please,” she begged, dropping to her knees before him, her hand stinging as it slapped against the dust and dirt on the cool marble floor. “Please, Hades. Please don’t do this to me.”

“I will be merciful and administer my original punishment, then,” he said, gazing pitifully at the nymph beneath him. “Ten days, and then you will leave here. You will not return for any period of time, at any point in your life, for any reason. My decision is final. Now, leave my home.”

“Hades, please,” she continued to sob, her tears indistinguishable from the rivulets of sweat cascading down her forehead. “My entire life is here. You don’t have to do this to me.”

“I commanded you to leave my home, Minthe,” he said.

“Why the fuck are you doing this?” she screamed, standing up to face him. She raised her unharmed hand to grip his arm in the same spot where, just minutes ago, she had delighted in carving shallow riverbeds of ichor into his flesh. She halted just before she made contact. Even without touching him, she felt tiny, stinging shocks of pain rapidly rise up to meet her skin, the sensation nearly identical to sparks of heat drifting and dancing above a wildfire. 

Hades tapped the ground with his bident, and a low growl rumbled from somewhere within the house. Cerebus stalked into the kitchen, he, too, having undergone a transformation. Six glowing eyes were fixated squarely on Minthe, and three snouts were bared with impossibly sharp teeth, through which a chorus of snarls echoed in unison.

“I will not tell you to leave a third time,” Hades said.

Minthe whirled around, her hands trembling with such intensity that her fingers slipped around the angles of the lock several times before she finally managed to turn it, cool air rushing inside to meet her. She hurried down the driveway as fast as her heels could carry her, struggling to coordinate her steps amidst the lingering haze inside her skull. 

Back inside his home, Hades slumped to the ground and rubbed his temples, the toll of his transformation beginning to manifest as a dull, throbbing headache in the base of his skill. Cerberus immediately rolled over onto his back, tongues lolling out of his mouths as he wagged his tail and happily demanded affection for a job well done. Hades stayed still for a moment, his skin tingling with a strangely pleasant prickling sensation as it shifted from black to blue. He blinked several times, his eyes watering slightly as they acclimated to their natural form. 

After allowing himself a moment to feel the blood pumping through his veins, the breath cycling through his lungs, he stood up and walked back into the kitchen. But upon hearing the sound of footsteps in his dining room, hyper-vigilance took over, and he immediately felt his skin begin to shift again. He instinctively thrust out his hand, preparing for his bident to materialize a second time.

As he cautiously turned the corner into the dining room, he heaved a great sigh and slapped his hand against his forehead at the sight that awaited him. Poseidon stood in the entryway, his hands clasped together gleefully, big emerald eyes wide with admiration. Zeus sat at the table, delicately pouring champagne into three crystal flutes. 

“Hades, I must say,” Zeus started out, not looking up from the careful operation of distributing  _ just _ enough orange juice into each glass. “That bit about sending her away to the River Styx was just absolutely superb.”

He stood to greet his brother, drink in his outstretched hand.

“Mimosa?” he offered, grinning with a certain level of arrogance that could only come from the King of the Gods. “You look like you could use one.”


	5. Dissonant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apollo comes out of hiding to weave a story for his twin sister. Artemis believes him, until she is forced to see things she would rather look away from.

_ The cool, comforting water swelled beneath Artemis with a pleasant, but persistent, gravitational force. The gentle pressure of the river lapped at her bare skin with a soothing, rhythmic flow, and her entire body seemed to sink involuntarily, her back touching down against the massive, smooth rocks that formed the base of the riverbed. Thick, violet locks of hair floated out from her scalp, all but her face submerged as she looked straight up at the sky, eyes glittering in the reflection of the stars. In the glow of the night sky, her amethyst skin practically sparkled beneath the dancing water, her body swaying in the embrace of the river as she kept her gaze fixated above. _

_ At first, the change was almost imperceptible. She blinked only once, and although she knew that several stars had instantly vanished in that split second, she merely brushed aside this fact as some kind of optical illusion, an inevitable consequence of trying to commit the infinite expansiveness of the night sky to one’s memory. But then she blinked twice, and then a third time, and then a fourth time, the stars disappearing in greater numbers each time her eyelids fluttered open. _

_ After blinking just a handful times more, the sky was completely black but for a single remaining constellation, its seven most prominent stars glaring down at the goddess. Artemis recognized those seven stars. She would recognize them anywhere, in any sky, in any realm of the universe. They, along with the countless stars surrounding the margins, comprised the Constellation of Orion. She blinked again, and the constellation seemed to glow even brighter, and then she blinked again, and she could have sworn she heard him call out her name, the familiar cadence of his voice stirring that deep, immovable sense of mourning in her chest. _

_ As she attempted to lift her head just ever so slightly, her hair was yanked beneath her. The riverbed vanished, and the unseen force gripped her hair even more tightly, her face now disappearing beneath the water. A single, instinctive scream escaped from her lips as her throat filled with thick, noxious liquid, sticky and syrupy against the roof of her mouth. She thrashed about for several moments before her face broke the surface, only to find that the cool, calming waters had been replaced with thick, black elixir, its consistency and aroma identical to the elixir from Persephone’s Maidenhood ritual. _

_ Artemis struggled to adjust her vision, her eyes stinging and swollen with the liquid as it dripped from her lashes. She could just barely make out the sight of the riverbank a few feet away, its soft, dry grass promising some semblance of relief. As she tilted forward in the water so that she could swim to safety, a sharp pain tore throughout her body. Thick pools of ichor swarmed and swirled into the black elixir as it poured forth from thin, deep cuts encircling her limbs. She looked down to find that her arms and legs were wrapped in some kind of metallic wire, the length of which traveled down to the unseen depths of the bottomless river beneath her. _

_ With the limited range of motion afforded to her, Artemis used one arm to reach out and touch the other. As her fingers brushed along the thick, glowing wire coiled around her forearm, an abrasive, dissonant chord filled the air. She tilted her head forward to inspect the wire more carefully, and beneath the fiery glow of Orion’s twinkling figure above, she recognized the restraints as the strings of a lyre. As the realization gripped her, the wires began to vibrate against her skin, until her body buzzed with the intensity of a hornet’s nest. _

* * *

Artemis awoke to her phone chiming softly beneath her pillow, the vibrations of the tiny device reverberating against her skull. She picked up the phone to find that she had just missed Apollo's call. Finally. It had been three days since Persephone’s ceremony, the aftermath of which left Artemis standing in Persephone’s now-empty bedroom wondering what events could have possibly transpired to produce the broken lyre in her hands. That being said, Apollo’s lack of communication was not entirely surprising. While the twins shared many similarities, Artemis’ sense of impeccable punctuality was not one of them, and she had grown accustomed to Apollo’s tendency towards abrupt radio silence for days, even weeks, at a time.

In this case, however, Apollo’s silence had been anything but accidental. In fact, he had replayed Artemis’ voicemail several times, hoping to glean some hidden bit of information, desperate for the tone of her voice to betray some secret. This was one of his greatest weaknesses, hidden amidst his propensity for expert manipulation and deceit: When faced with the possibility of being caught in a lie, he became paranoid. Not just cautious, not just careful, but fully, genuinely _ paranoid_.

Now, more than ever, he was terribly paranoid that the chaos of Persephone’s Maidenhood ritual may somehow lead to his undoing. In the three days since Artemis had called him, he had been holed up in his apartment, obsessively tearing through gossip websites and digital tabloids with the voracity of a 14 year-old-girl. Each time he saw some new headline regarding the Maidenhood, he was filled with an inexplicable sense of dread at the prospect that he had been caught. 

But as Sunday and Monday passed by without event, his paranoia gradually subsided as he became preoccupied with planning for the aftermath. Apollo knew there was a significant risk that Persephone may tell one confidante or another the truth as to why she failed her initiation ritual. He knew that a rumor like _ that _would have deep roots, roots that wouldn’t just shrivel away into nothingness after a week or two. He knew that the judgement of his fellow civilians - and, inevitably, the judgement of the mortals who worshipped him - would wield much more damage than any formal, legal judgement.

Although he had yet to figure out how, exactly, he would prevent such an event from occurring, he figured that at the very least, he could start by returning Artemis’ call. So, he left her a short voicemail, in which he nonchalantly agreed to swing by the house. He almost expected her to ram an arrow through his gut the moment he walked through the door, certain that this was some kind of set-up. He consciously kept himself from smiling with smug relief when he walked inside to find Artemis lazily reclined on the couch, cup of coffee in one hand, phone in the other. 

“So?” Artemis asked, wasting no time as she got up to retrieve a cup of coffee for Apollo. When she returned from the kitchen, she also handed him a cardboard box, where the broken lyre was swathed in layers of tissue paper. Apollo did not open it yet. He knew what was inside. He knew that the sight of it would drive him into rage. He knew that he could not afford to lose his temper, not now. Artemis continued. “Why the hell do you think she would do this?”

Apollo sighed and took a sip of his coffee, briefly preparing himself for the story he was about to recount to his sister. He fancied himself an expert manipulator, but his twin sister was quite possibly the most difficult person for him to lie to. Having been raised side-by-side, she was keenly aware of the subtleties that he adopted whenever he set about spinning tall tales, and Apollo knew that he couldn’t afford to give himself away right now. The risk was too great. 

“Well, Artemis,” he started. “I haven’t been completely honest with you.”

This was one of Apollo’s oldest and most well-loved tricks. He knew that if he humbly admitted to one lie, and if he did so in _ just _the right way, he was far less likely to be caught in another.

“I asked Persephone on a date,” he said, frowning sheepishly and waiting for his sister to react. Artemis inhaled sharply and folded her arms across her chest.

“Look, Apollo,” she said. “I know you don’t give a shit about the Maidenhood, but seriously? You knew that I took a huge risk allowing Demeter’s daughter to live with me. It’s also, you know, my fucking _ job _ to protect young women.”

“I know, Artemis. I’m really sorry,” he said with mock sincerity. “I-I wasn’t thinking. It was right after that first time we met. I guess I just thought we clicked. Anyways, she said she wasn’t interested, and then she just acted like a total jerk to me and pretended I didn’t exist afterwards.”

“O-kay,” Artemis said, her eyes narrowing. On a good day, she had very little patience for her brother’s tendency towards dramatic, grandiose storytelling. On a day that began with a horribly unpleasant and vivid nightmare, such patience was simply nonexistent. “And what, exactly, does this have to do with your broken lyre?”

“I know you’re pissed,” Apollo sighed, gazing into his sister’s eyes with a level of humility that bordered on the theatrical. “But just hear me out. A couple of weeks later, I swung by the house to see if you were home, and I saw her and Hades making out in the backseat of his car.”

“What? Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”

“Listen, I know I should have told you sooner, but just let me finish. She was really pissed that I saw them. She said that if I told you about it, she would retaliate by telling you that I had asked her on a date.”

“Seriously?” she groaned. “Why do I feel like I’m surrounded by 13-year-old girls right now?” 

“I know, it was really petty and stupid and I should have just told you, Artemis.”

“You still haven’t explained the lyre.”

“That was Hades,” he said, bringing the story full-circle now. He tried to ignore the flutter of excitement in his chest, hoping that his final detail would tie things off in a neat, presentable package for his slightly suspicious and very impatient twin sister. “Apparently, Persephone told him that I had asked her out on a date. He wanted to look tough, I guess, because he started cracking jokes about my ‘experimental harp,’ and he threatened to break it if I ever came near her again. I guess he wanted to get the message across, because it went missing the next day, and this is the first time I’m seeing it since.” 

Artemis sunk back into the couch and buried her face in her hands. She could not quite shake the feeling that she had been flung into some alternate universe where she was the only normal, functioning adult amidst a throng of gossipy, dysfunctional, petty adolescents. But even still, Artemis could not ignore the warmth in her chest as her irritation gave way to anger.

“God, Hades is such a fucking prick,” she whined. Apollo breathed a subtle sigh of relief, while still cautiously observing his sister for signs of suspicion. Artemis finally made eye contact with him, and for a brief moment, that glowing, seven-star constellation dominated her vision, like some supernatural roadmap, demanding to be followed. Just like in her dream, she blinked, and it disappeared. She stood up to retrieve a second cup of coffee, attributing the vision to her sleepiness. 

“Yeah, well, sorry you have to deal with all of this,” Apollo called after her, nervously rubbing his thumbs around the rim of his own coffee mug. Artemis was far more perceptive than she let on to, and Apollo was certain she would notice his shift in mood if he did not reel in his excitement at having successfully sold his story.

“It’s whatever,” Artemis sighed, wandering back into the living room and plopping onto the couch beside him. “Will you be able to fix it?”

She gestured towards Apollo’s lyre, which still lay untouched in the box.

“Sure, it shouldn’t be too hard,” he said, still afraid for what dark, unrelenting mess might become untangled inside of him if he unwrapped the object. Artemis sat up and reached for the box, completely oblivious to the abrupt panic which struck Apollo. He could not reach out and grab the object away from her, nor could he tell her to stop. Either option would raise far, far too much suspicion. He could only watch silently as Artemis gently undid the tissue paper, the white, translucent material crinkling in her hands.

“I tried to wrap it up. I still just can’t believe they did this,” she said quietly, too mesmerized by the object before her to notice Apollo’s reaction. An object such as Apollo’s lyre was not merely some fancy bauble, some expensive trinket left to collect dust in a showcase. Much like Artemis’ bow, or Hades’ bident, or Hermes’ caduceus, Apollo’s lyre was imbued with the very essence of its owner, a mystical and inexplicable current of power that could only be called forth by the god it belonged to. 

Artemis looked down at the object and gingerly ran her fingers along a broken string. Just as her fingertip brushed along the jagged coil where Persephone had cut it, another vision came into view. At the point where her fingertip met the broken lyre string, the string began to extend and wrap itself around her finger, like some thin, wiry caterpillar. It coiled around her finger and began to travel down her hand towards her wrist, the sight nearly identical to the restraints from her dream. She blinked, much harder this time than the last. When she opened her eyes, the vision was gone. 

“Sorry,” she said, realizing that she had been silently staring at her outstretched wrist for several seconds. She shook her head back-and-forth with the same motion that one might use to empty their ears of water, hoping that she might force the memory to spill from her mind. “Just zoned out for a sec--” 

As she turned to look at Apollo, she stopped. She cocked her head for a moment, her eyes frozen, her breath stuck somewhere in the back of her throat. He was covered in that black liquid. That strange, mysterious, _ persistent _black liquid that seemed to travel from Persephone’s ritual bowl to Hades’ shirt to the river in her dreams and now to her twin brother. Apollo sat completely naked on the couch, his eyes the only visible feature beneath the opaque layer of black elixir, which coated every bare inch of his skin but for his hands. His fingertips ran with thick streams of ichor, golden and viscous and glittering, as it dripped onto the hardwood floor. Artemis blinked, longer this time than the others. When she opened her eyes, her brother was in his normal clothing, still barely sipping at his coffee, his skin untouched by any mysterious or magical liquid, his eyes firmly fixated on the broken lyre. 

“Sorry,” Artemis said again, suddenly cognizant of the dryness in her throat. She had not breathed since she turned to face Apollo. “Just out of it today.”

“No worries. I should probably get out of here,” Apollo mumbled. Truthfully, he had become completely oblivious to his surroundings the moment he laid his eyes on the broken lyre. He could only stare at the box before them, his breathing slow and deliberate, his hands struggling not to twitch as he tenderly placed the instrument back in its bed of tissue paper. 

Apollo stood up to leave, and as he cradled the box tightly against his chest, Artemis watched as small fingerprints materialized on his wrists. They rapidly began to grow in number, their appearance almost frantic, as if they were urgently grabbing at - or pushing away - his hands. The fingerprints were a faint shade of gold, as if they had been dipped in fresh ichor. Artemis blinked. Then, she blinked again. And again. And again, and again and again until her brother closed the front door behind him. This time, the vision simply refused to disappear.


	6. Photosynthesis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hades and Persephone seek some clarity after the events of her ceremony.

Hecate knocked on Hades’ door just gently enough to push it open.

“Hades?” she called into his office, a flutter of anxiety emerging in her chest when he did not respond. A mutual regard for personal space was one of many characteristics bonding the two friends to one another, and she felt uneasy at entering his office while being uncertain of what may lie beyond the door. When she stepped inside, she found him reclined in his desk chair, eyelids shut, fingers laced together, a pair of black headphones dangling from his ears and leading to his computer. Hecate smirked at the sight. Hades was known to be one of the most refined, most eloquent gods, and there was something charming about catching rare glimpses of him like this: vulnerable, relaxed, and, well,  _ normal _ .

She gently crept over to his desk, where she stole a glance at his computer screen. His music player was open to its full-screen view, which revealed a black-and-white photo of a very forlorn Johnny Cash gazing somberly into the darkness. Hecate could not help but stifle a laugh, to which Hades jerked up abruptly, eyes snapping open and blazing with a flash of crimson red.

“What the f—” he started out, before whirling around to find Hecate standing behind him, her lips pursed together in an attempt to hold back laughter.

“Everything okay, boss?” she asked, cocking her head and putting a hand on her hip.

“Can I help you, Hecate?” Hades shot back, eyes narrowing.

“I think I should be asking you that question,” she said, nodding towards the computer screen. “You’re half-asleep alone in your office, listening to ‘Hurt’ by Johnny Cash on repeat.”

“I just dozed off!” he quipped, his cheeks shifting to a shade of blue-violet as he rushed to turn off his computer monitor. He let out a heavy sigh. “Anyways, it’s the end of the day and I was just, you know, trying to unwind. Do you actually need something?”

“Yes, actually, I do,” she said. She held up a thick stack of paperwork, the top of which read  _ BANISHMENT ORDER _ in bold, black letters. “I just wanted to quadruple-check before I get this stamped. You will recall that banishment orders become a matter of public record once they’re filed.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hades muttered, flipping through the pages noncommittally. “We can thank my brother for that.”

In some long ago, bygone era, banishment was nothing more than a snap of one’s fingers, a one-and-done process that Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades could utilize on a whim. But as the justice system developed along with civilization in the three realms, the subjects of each respective realm began to voice their displeasure with the flagrant abuse of power that this privilege often entailed. Poseidon, in particular, had a tendency to banish subjects for such minute offenses as taking up too much space on the beach. In one notorious case from the ‘80s, he announced that he would henceforth banish all males who wore boxers beneath their swim trunks. In the outcry that followed, the three gods agreed to make the banishment process more transparent, so as to avoid such grandiose displays of power. As a result, Hades had recruited Hecate to aid him in the needlessly bureaucratic stack of paperwork for banishing Minthe, who would be left with seven days in the Underworld from that point on.

“Looks fine to me,” Hades sighed, not particularly interested in re-reading the details of the justification for his decision.

“Great. Thank you, my benevolent overlord,” Hecate said cheerfully. She had made no effort to hide her satisfaction at Hades’ banishment decision. She turned on her heel and began to walk away before pausing at the door.

“One more thing,” Hecate said, briefly stopping to pull something up on her phone. “I’m ordering dinner for myself and the flower child tonight. Do you think she’d like the strawberry walnut salad, or the herb-encrusted tofu?”

“How should I know!?” Hades demanded, softly thudding his hand against his desk. Again, Hecate could not help but smirk.

“I don’t know, just thought I’d ask,” she said defensively. Just as she placed her hand on the doorknob, a small voice echoed behind her.

“She doesn’t like tofu. Balsamic vinaigrette is her favorite dressing.”

Hecate’s smirk grew into a delightful grin as she pulled the door shut behind her. 

* * *

Hecate’s heart thrummed a bit against her ribcage as she turned the key to the front door of her home. She was, quite truthfully, worried for what may wait inside. It had been five days since Persephone’s ceremony, and for the most part, she kept herself isolated to the guest bedroom. When she did leave bed, it was for short trips to the kitchen so that she could retrieve a single piece of fruit or a small cup of tea. Hecate caught a brief glimpse of the goddess before she left for work that morning, and she noticed that Persephone’s hair remained unwashed, her skin damp with sweat and oil beneath the sweatshirt and shorts she had been wearing since she arrived.

Thus, she was surprised when she walked into the kitchen to find Persephone hunched over at the dining room table. From where Hecate stood, Persephone’s back was to her, revealing soft, damp hair curled up into a bun above the hemline of her loose-fitting black t-shirt. Hecate smiled a bit to herself, relieved to see that the young goddess had at least showered and changed into some fresh clothing. But as she gently approached the dining room, she saw that Persephone’s shoulders were gently trembling with quiet sobs.

“Persephone?” she asked with sudden alarm, rushing into the dining room with their bags of food still clutched tightly in her hands.

Persephone’s head was in her hands, her fingers gripping the roots of her hair. Rivulets of tears rolled off her cheeks and plopped softly into a small ceramic pot of soil beneath her. Tiny green buds peeked out of the dirt, and although each appeared to be a different species of flower, all of them had but one thing in common: dried, wilted petals.

“Persephone, what happened?” Hecate asked, gently rubbing Persephone’s shoulder with her thumb as she knelt beside her.

“It’s so stupid,” Persephone said, her sinuses sticky with tears. By the looks of it, she had been crying for quite some time. “I just wanted to do better today, and I thought I was doing better, and I wanted to plant some flowers for you since you’ve been letting me stay here, but I messed everything up. It’s just so stupid, and I feel so stupid.”

Hecate pulled her into an embrace and began to rub her back, but Persephone recoiled ever so slightly at the sensation of Hecate’s palm against the bare skin of her upper shoulders. Hecate did not acknowledge the gesture; she merely filed it away into some mental archive that had slowly been compiling moments such as these for several weeks now.

“You’re not stupid at all,” Hecate said. “In fact, I’m really proud of you just for getting out of bed today, dear one.”

“I just wanted to feel normal again,” Persephone whispered, rubbing tears away with the backs of her hands, which were covered in bits of soil. “I didn’t get to help with making spring this year, so I thought that making something would help me to feel like myself again, but I can’t even do that.”

“Persephone,” Hecate said. “I can tell you from experience that sometimes, our powers simply take backseat to other things that happen to us. I know it’s frustrating, but it’s normal. There is nothing wrong with you for having a bit of trouble.”

“Really?” Persephone asked, sniffling as she looked up to meet the gentle gaze of the goddess before her.

“Yes, really,” Hecate said, nodding emphatically. She pulled out a chair for herself and sat beside the goddess as she began to unpack their food. “Also, I brought you dinner. As much as I don’t mind allowing you to raid my fruit pantry, I figured you could use something a little more substantial. Is balsamic vinaigrette okay?”

“It’s my favorite,” she said, though she frowned when she looked at the enormous salad before her. “Hecate, I promise I’ll figure something out soon. I can try to find a job and get my own apartment, or I could always move back to the mortal—”

“You stop that right now, young goddess,” Hecate interrupted, raising her hand to silence Persephone. “I’ve lived alone for thousands of years, and it’s quite nice to break up the silence a bit. I have more than enough to provide for you, be it for a few weeks or a few months.”

“I just don’t want to be a burden on you,” Persephone said, her stomach rumbling as she opened the plastic container before her. She had not eaten a real meal in several days, and her physical needs demanded to overtake her psychological distress at that moment.

“You are not a burden at all. Now, mind if I take a look at this?” Hecate asked, her fingers gently pulling at the flower pot as she brought it closer to inspect the contents. Persephone shook her head, too enthralled with having  _ real _ food to verbalize a response.

“Hm, let’s see,” Hecate murmured. She nodded slightly to herself as the petals crumbled into tiny particles between her fingertips. “Rose, chamomile, jasmine, is there anything else I’m missing?”

“Calendula.”

“All of these are salvageable, you know. They would work wonderfully for homemade teabags, and the calendula would be an excellent addition to a skincare regimen I’ve been concocting.”

“It’s okay, Hecate,” Persephone said, smiling weakly in spite of herself. “You don’t have to humor me.”

“Please, Persephone. You should know by now that ‘Goddess of Witchcraft’ is just a fancier sounding title for ‘Goddess of Arts and Crafts’.”

“Yeah, and I’m apparently the Goddess of Dead Things now,” Persephone joked.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Hecate said, standing up to place the flowerpot in the kitchen. When she returned, she studied Persephone carefully for a moment, relieved to see her give in to her appetite. “Anyways, is there anything you’d like to do that might help you to feel better?”

“I’m not sure,” Persephone said, poking at her salad pensively. “I was thinking it might be nice to get outside, but I don’t think I’m ready to be seen in public yet.”

Hecate nodded sympathetically. She had made a very conscious effort to shield Persephone from the endless tabloid coverage of her failed Maidenhood ritual, but she knew that she would be subjected to the vicious realities of their interconnected society at some point or another.

“There is one thing I’ve really been wanting to do,” Persephone said with considerable hesitation, “but I was actually hoping you might give me some advice first.”

“Of course,” Hecate said, perking up a bit. Persephone very clearly did not lend her trust easily to others at this phase in her life, and Hecate could not help but feel a little pleased that the young goddess would seek her council.

“I’ve been meaning to get in touch with Hades,” she said. Hecate glanced at Persephone’s hands, which were nervously twisting the black cloth napkin in her lap. “I just don’t know if it’s too soon, you know? I don’t want to be a burden on him, but I really want to clear things up after everything that happened.”

“Persephone, I think that would be a wonderful idea. Only if you’re ready, of course.”

“Really? You don’t think he hates me?” Persephone asked, her eyes wide. She held a great deal of insecurity around her relationship with Hades, and she was almost certain that Hecate would advise against her meddling in his life any further.

“Of course not,” Hecate said, carefully considering her response. “I actually think it might do him some good to hear from you.”

“Has he talked about me?” Persephone inquired, her fork gently clattering against the table as she turned to face Hecate head-on.

“Dear, you know he’s one of my best friends,” Hecate responded with a gentle smile. “I’m not particularly keen on telling you what our private conversations consist of. But suffice to say, he most certainly does not hate you, and that I think he would be happy to hear from you.”

“Okay. I think I’ll do that tonight,” Persephone said, nodding anxiously to herself as she stared off into the distance. She had been so certain that her plan was stupid and unrealistic that she hadn’t bothered to consider what she might actually say to him should she go through with it.

She was no more confident when she dialed his number a couple of hours later, but she at least felt a bit more “put-together” after having had a full meal and a real shower. As his ringtone trilled, she almost hoped that he wouldn’t pick up, so that the burden might be placed on him to call her back and she would no longer have to worry about it. But as the line clicked and his voice filled her ears, her heart leapt somewhere in her ribcage as she realized she would have no such luck.

“Hello?” he said. He was reclined at the massive desk in his home office and begrudgingly scrolling through the latest news. Persephone’s voice was a welcome and unexpected surprise amidst the current headline glaring on the white screen before him:  _ FROM EX-GIRLFRIEND TO EX-ILED! _

“Hades?”

“Yes, Persephone, who did you think it was?” he asked with a small laugh.

“I don’t know,” she said, unable to keep herself from smiling a bit at the sound of his laughter. “I guess I didn’t expect you to answer.”

“Now, why ever would I refuse a phone call from the Goddess of Spring?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Persephone said, her anxiety diffusing at the clear amusement in his voice. She was so certain that he would be displeased to hear from her, and now, she was so certain that the tone of his voice suggested otherwise. “Maybe because I caused a publicity nightmare for you.”

“Look, Persephone,” he said, his own sour mood disintegrating at the playfulness in her voice. “I know I promised to be good after that last incident with the paparazzi, but I swear upon every god in every pantheon, if I found out which journalist started this whole ‘DEFLOWERED’ pun in the tabloids—”

For the first time in several days, Persephone found herself erupting with laughter, the sound ringing like some warm, enchanting bell in Hades’ ears as he made no effort to stop a grin from spreading across his face.

“But really,” he said, his voice softer now. “Persephone, it’s good to hear from you. How are you doing?”

“Uh,” she stuttered, uncertain of how to respond. She was quite certain that he would not be interested in knowing that she had just showered for the first time in several days, nor that she had spent two hours crying after she failed to create a few flowers earlier in the afternoon. When she finally spoke, Hades noticed the hesitance in her voice. “I’ve been better, I suppose. How are you?”

“I could say the same,” he said, the soft restraint in his voice mirroring hers.

“I’m sorry, Hades. That’s probably my fault.”

“Again, I could say the same, Persephone. I feel horribly about everything you’ve gone through these past few days.”

“It’s not your fault,” she said, tears pooling in her eyes as she found herself too ashamed to even mention the behavior of her mother. She so desperately wanted to apologize for what happened, but the sheer humiliation sat like an immovable lump in her throat, preventing the words from making their way out of her mouth.

“Well, still,” he said. “When you summoned me, and I found you in the forest like that ... I was so worried for you. I-I still am, to be quite honest.”

“I don’t know how I could ever thank you for that,” she said, sniffling a bit, praying silently to herself that he would be unable to hear the tears in her voice. “I just feel so badly that I asked you to come and help me, you know, after what happened with my mom.”

“Persephone,” he sighed, his voice far more soothing than she anticipated. “You aren’t responsible for what your mother said to me. You do know that, yes?”

“But still,” she insisted. Some part of her wanted to press the discussion further now that she had overcome the initial obstacle of merely bringing it up, but she knew that she should wait. “I was actually thinking that maybe we should talk about everything in-person soon, if you want. I know you’re really busy, so we don’t have to.”

“That sounds like a great idea,” Hades said. “But only if you’re ready, of course. I know that you likely need a bit of time to deal with everything right now, so there is absolutely no rush.”

“No,” Persephone said, pursing her lips for a moment before she decided to be brave. “I would actually really like to see you in person. I-I’ve missed you.”

Hades paused, a bit surprised. His silence filled Persephone with anxiety, which immediately subsided at the sound of his voice.

“I’ve missed you too, Persephone.”

“So, um, when can I see you? Like I said, I know you’re really busy, so—”

“Would you like to come over Friday evening? I have some stupid business dinner to attend that evening, but I would be happy to host you afterwards.”

“Are you sure that works for you? I don’t want to ruin your weekend for the second time in a row,” she said with a self-deprecating laugh.

“You would not be ruining my weekend in the slightest,” he reassured her.

“Okay, Friday night then. It’s a date,” Persephone said, gasping slightly to herself. She hadn’t meant to refer to their meeting as a date; it was merely a slip of the tongue, a simple colloquialism that she would have attached to plans with anyone else. But before she could correct herself, Hades stole her chance.

“Sounds great,” he said, and Persephone swore that she could hear the smile in his voice.

* * *

“Careful, or else you’re going to get a foot cramp,” Hecate said, glancing away from the steering wheel at Persephone, who sat staring out the window, legs crossed, foot bouncing anxiously where it rest against her thigh.

“Sorry,” Persephone said sheepishly, freezing in place. She had not even realized she was engaging in the habit until Hecate commented. “I’m just a little nervous, I guess.”

“You know,” Hecate started out, that familiar devilish grin playing at the corners of her lips. “You two are pretty damn adorable together, and you should take that comment seriously, coming from the wickedest witch in the Underworld.”

“We aren’t even together,” Persephone protested, pursing her lips together.

“Well, still,” Hecate continued. “Whatever you two are, it’s quite endearing. I mean, can we talk about the fact that Cerberus left his post in the Underworld, and traveled through a massive forest in an unfamiliar realm to find you and help you to safety? I’ve known that dog for thousands of years, and he’ll hardly allow me to pet him for more than a few seconds.”

“I’m just good with animals,” Persephone said, turning her nose up as she looked out the window.

“Look, all I’m saying is that there’s an interesting implication to the Guardian of the Underworld feeling an instinctive need to protect you. And hey, at least he’s not stuck with that awful river nymph anymore.”

“Yeah, well, let me just focus on making it through tonight,” Persephone said, smoothing the fabric of her soft, black dress, a hand-me-down from Hecate. On Hecate, it was far too short, but when accounting for Persephone’s height difference it stopped just halfway along her thighs. Around her shoulders, she wore a cranberry-red shawl, the soft, luxe fabric draping over her arms. She would normally not consider such a garment, but when she eyed the piece in Hecate’s closet, she could not help but notice the color’s resemblance to that of the dress Hades had once provided for her when she visited his retreat. She was pleased to notice that it actually looked quite nice juxtaposed against her much brighter skin.

“Here we are,” Hecate said, pulling through the wrought-iron gates of Hades’ driveway. She could not help but feel a bit sympathetic for the goddess, having to be chauffeured around despite her recent insistence that she be treated like an adult. Unfortunately, the elevated presence of the media practically guaranteed that someone might spot her on the way to Hades’, so Hecate insisted that Persephone allow her to transport her behind the safety of her SUV’s tinted windows.

“Thanks again,” Persephone said, taking a deep breath as she stepped from the vehicle.

“Don’t forget to breathe,” Hecate said, giving Persephone a reassuring smile before she pulled off into the distance.

As Persephone approached Hades’ front door, she made a conscious effort to still her arms, which trembled slightly with anxiety. Before she could even knock, a cheerful bark began to echo from inside the house, until the sound rushed up to meet her at the glass pane beside the doorway. Cerberus was trailed by Hades, who shook his head embarrassingly and scrambled to restrain the enthusiastic beast.

Hades’ shyness intensified as he took in the sight of the goddess, who presented a far different sight than the last time he had seen her. Her hair hung in delicate curls just below her neck, her bangs twisted in a delicate braid behind her ears. She hugged her shawl a little more tightly around her shoulders as Hades stared at her, although she noticed with a twinge of excitement that she actually quite liked the way he was looking at her.

“It’s really good to see you,” she said, smiling as she nervously spun the black beaded bracelet hanging from her wrist.

“It’s good to see you, too,” he said, breaking from his trance of admiration to usher her inside, his hand gently guiding the small of her back away from Cerberus, who threatened to tackle her to the ground with his enthusiasm. “You look lovely.”

“So do you.”

At surface-level, Hades’ look could have been mistaken for the same look he wore nearly every other day: white shirt, black tie, black pants, black shoes, black suspenders. But Persephone was keen on other small details, and in this case, she was particularly keen to notice the way his sleeves were rolled up past his elbows, revealing the sculpted forearms beneath.

Hades guided her into the living room, where the crackling fireplace combined with the scent of vanilla and sugar to create an intoxicating aroma.

“I know it’s probably nothing compared to your baklava,” Hades said, gesturing towards the coffee table. “But I figured I would try my hand at baking something for once.”

Atop the table sat a small cake, carefully coated in vanilla frosting and artfully decorated with perfectly symmetrical slices of fresh strawberry. The cake was surrounded by small dishes of various sliced fruits and chocolate-covered goodies. He had already poured her a cup of tea, and he had even remembered her favorite flavor: jasmine green.

“This is lovely,” Persephone said, smiling warmly.

For the first several minutes, they engaged in somewhat shallow discussion, both of them too mesmerized by the other to delve into the far more emotionally-demanding conversation that awaited them. Hades rambled on about some employee who had been caught leaking details of his work activities to the press, and Persephone excitedly told him of some flower-related spells that Hecate planned to teach her. Hades nervously inquired about her experience in the Underworld thus far, and he was pleasantly surprised to hear Persephone describe her unexpected adoration for his realm.

“Speaking of my time in the Underworld,” Persephone said, setting her tea down and nervously folding her hands in her lap. “I suppose we should talk about everything that’s been going on.”

“Right,” Hades said, shifting on the couch to angle his body closer to hers, his hands also resting anxiously against his thighs. He made a deliberate effort to fixate his gaze on her face, though he could not help but notice the softness of her skin as she nervously twisted her bracelet for the second time that evening.

“I don’t even know what to say,” Persephone started out, her own eyes fixed on the ground. “What my mother said to you was inexcusable, Hades. I feel absolutely horrible that she said such cruel things on my behalf.”

“Persephone,” he said, hesitating for a moment before he reached out to touch her hand, hoping that she wouldn’t notice the light sheen of sweat dampening his palms. If she did, she made no indication as she gripped his hand, her trembling fingers slowing to a stop as he gently brushed his thumb against the back of hers. “You don’t need to apologize for the actions of someone else.”

“I’m just so ashamed,” she said. “I was so stupid to run away after I messed up the ritual. I didn’t even think about the mess I was leaving behind, which was bad enough, but then I summoned you. I just feel incredibly selfish for being such a burden on your life.”

“You are anything but a burden on my life. And you have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of,” he replied, squeezing her hand. He carefully considered what to say next. On the one hand, he felt compelled to be honest with her and tell her that perhaps Demeter’s assessment of their relationship was not inaccurate; she was far too good for him. On the other hand, he did not want to come across as some pitiful thing, the kind of pitiful thing that he often felt like whenever he had made attempts to be more vulnerable in his relationship with Minthe. As it turned out, he needn’t say anything, as Persephone interjected before he had the opportunity.

“I hope you know that my mother couldn’t be more wrong about you,” she said. Hades shifted a bit nervously; it was as if she could read his thoughts. “You know that, right? Every single thing she said to you was absolutely false.”

“I do worry sometimes,” Hades said, swallowing over the lump in my throat. “Although we’ve been distant from one another lately, my feelings haven’t exactly gone away.”

“What do you worry about?” Persephone asked. She gently raised her free hand to touch his face, her thumb brushing along the length of his jaw.

“That I may not be good enough for you,” he admitted, studying her eyes for a reaction. “I often can’t help but feel that I’ve only brought trouble into your life.”

“That’s not true,” she said firmly. “Ever since I left home, things have been so chaotic and difficult and if I can be quite honest, I think my feelings for you may be the only stable, consistent thing in my life right now.”

Hades said nothing, only watched the delicate face of the vulnerable goddess before him, her bright eyes twinkling as she stared up at him.

“And I know you just got out of a rough relationship, and I want to make sure you have the time and space you need to heal from that,” she continued, a slight frown creasing the corners of her mouth as she spoke, “but I also want you to know that I think you only deserve good things in your life, Hades.”

“So do you, Persephone.”

After a brief moment of silence, with her hand still gently resting against his cheek, she leaned forward ever so slightly, her shoulders baring themselves as her shawl gingerly slipped further down her back. Hades leaned forward to meet her at the same time, using his own free hand to gently brush his fingertips along her shoulder. Their lips met, hers tasting of jasmine and green tea, his of vanilla and strawberries and espresso.

The sheer magic of the moment was briefly stolen away by a ticklish sensation as Hades pulled away to look down at his bare forearms, which were littered with pale blue petals. Unlike the flowers Persephone had produced in Hecate’s kitchen just a couple of days prior, the petals were not wilted nor dry; they were soft, supple, full of vibrance and life.

“Oh,” Persephone gasped, nervously pulling away from him and raking stray petals from her hair, which curled protectively around her face as her cheeks blushed ruby red.

“Wait a second,” Hades said, a smile crossing his face as he gently placed his hand on her forearm. “That day when we were at the hospital, with the photographer. When we came out afterwards, and there were flowers everywhere—”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen!” Persephone cried out, her hair cascading into gentle coils along her collarbone. At the very mention of the incident, more petals emerged from her curls and fell into her lap. “I can’t exactly control it, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Just, hold on a second,” Hades said, not wanting to embarrass her but also incapable of withholding his curiosity. “What even happened that caused you to do that?”

“I wasn’t trying to be invasive or anything,” Persephone said, looking down at her legs and nervously raking her fingers through the pile of petals in her lap. “But when you were alone in the hospital room, you changed—”

“Wait, you saw that?” he said, terror gripping him at the realization that Persephone had seen him in  _ that  _ form, the form where he most closely resembled his father.

“Yes,” she said, finally meeting his gaze as she struggled to interpret the look of panic on his face. “That – that’s what caused my, um, little floral episode.”

“I don’t understand,” he said. “You weren’t, I don’t know, horrified? Disgusted?”

“No!” she said emphatically, her eyes widening in shock as she leaned forward again to place his hands in her own. A shy smile crossed her face as she admitted, “I thought you were beautiful. Like the night sky.”

He kept waiting for her to deliver a punchline, a disclaimer, an exception. It never came. He leaned forward and gently placed a hand on the back of her head to tilt her face towards his. They kissed again, far longer this time. And as Hades softly tangled his fingers in her curls, he could not help but smile against her lips at the feeling of new petals, delicate and soft, as they fell against the back of his hand.

  
  



	7. Rhythm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Persephone struggles to understand a strange, frustrating sensation that emerges while she's with Hades. Meanwhile, in Olympus, Athena and Artemis are just trying to enjoy a friendly game of darts, when they're interrupted by a very enthusiastic (and very drunk) visitor. Afterwards, Artemis finds herself on an unexpected journey, one that seems to have implications for an undiscovered power hidden inside of her.

** _Warning: This chapter briefly mentions flashbacks and dissociation resulting from sexual abuse. _ **

* * *

Hades pulled away from Persephone’s lips, and she was almost certain that he would announce an abrupt moment of clarity. After all, she had not planned to kiss him. She had merely acted on some strange, nameless need, one that radiated warmth from someplace deep in her abdomen. Hades studied her face, noticing that the dim glow of the fireplace deepened the rouge in her cheeks. Persephone waited, bracing herself for rejection, for regret, for “I’m having second thoughts.”

As Hades leaned in to kiss her once again, her doubts were swept away by sheer ecstasy. They continued like this for some time, lips moving in careful harmony, hands hesitantly exploring one another’s jaw, shoulders, collarbone, fingertips. In an attempt to pull her closer, Hades slowly brought his hand from Persephone’s shoulder to the small of her back. For a moment, she felt her body gravitating towards his, the tips of his fingers not applying any pressure and yet, somehow, beckoning her to press herself up against him. She readjusted her body so that she was perched in his lap, her legs straddling one of his thighs. The warmth in her abdomen glowed with a comfortable heat, until, out of nowhere: _Don’t forget. You’re my girl_.

The memory of Apollo’s words fired off like a flare gun in the midnight sky, red and explosive and dripping with white-hot sparks. The pleasant warmth in her abdomen was now a massive fire, roaring with reckless intensity throughout her body and sending clouds of thick, suffocating smoke through her veins and directly into her brain. Objectively, she knew that she was with Hades, in his home, in his arms. But through the curtain of black fog that clouded her mind, she could have sworn she was back in her old bedroom, pinned down by violet skin, yellow eyes, jagged black restraints that threatened to sever her from reality.

Hades stayed absolutely still, uncertain of what he had done to provoke such a response from Persephone. She had jerked away from their kiss and now sat frozen beside him, her eyes fixated on something he could not see. 

“Persephone?” he said, keeping his voice low so as not to frighten her. The sound of her name on his lips was cool, rushing water against the fire raging in her gut, and she felt those strange, black strings unravel from her limbs and drop her back into the present, where she was sitting on Hades’ couch, her entire body angled away from his.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, turning to face him with tears in her eyes. How should she explain a phenomenon that she, herself, could not even begin to understand? She was completely humiliated by this monstrous instinct inside of her, its appetite so voracious that it took less than a second to devour what should have been a moment of pure magic.

“Are you okay?” he asked. He raised his hand and went to place it on her shoulder, but thought better of it.

“Yes,” she said. “I just zoned out for a second. I’m sorry, Hades.”

“Would you like for me to hold you?” he asked. She nodded slightly, still too ashamed to make eye contact. He outstretched his arms and reached for her much more carefully this time, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other rubbing her upper back. She melted against his touch, her own arm resting against his torso as she laid her head on his chest. With her ear pressed to the soft, white fabric of his shirt, she could just barely hear the soft thump of his heartbeat.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Persephone,” Hades said, pressing his lips against her temple for a moment before speaking again. “You don’t have to apologize.”

She nodded, closing her eyes so that she might devote more sensory focus to his heartbeat. There was something strangely reassuring in its consistent, steady rhythm.

* * *

_Thwack_.

“Are you fucking kidding me!?”

The nearest bartender – a short, curvy celestial nymph with deep turquoise skin – whirled around, her pale blue eyes narrowing into an irritated glare as they stopped at the source of the loud, profane proclamation: Artemis. She was a frequent patron of The Krater, partially for its inexpensive craft beers and relatively small crowds, but primarily because it was one of the only establishments in Olympus where Artemis could play her favorite game: Darts. As such, the bartenders had become accustomed to her frequent patronage, which often entailed heavy profanity.

At present, the Goddess of the Hunt stood on her tiptoes, hands drawn into fists, nose nearly pressed to the wall, eyes squinting beneath the dim orange lights as she inspected the dart board before her. Athena sat at the tall, round table nearby, her face drawn into an arrogant grin as she beckoned the bartender to fetch another round on Artemis’ tab.

“Best three out of five,” Artemis demanded, lukewarm golden drops cascading along the glass neck of her nearly empty bottle as she brought it to her lips. 

“It’s okay, buddy. Maybe one day, you’ll beat me,” Athena said with a hearty laugh as she clapped her hand on Artemis’ shoulder. The bartender returned with two bottles of beer and smiled sweetly at the goddesses. Artemis had nearly been exiled from the bar several times, but the staff always inevitably agreed to let her stay, largely due to the enormous tips she left at the end of the night.

“Besides,” Athena continued, “I thought you said you wanted to come here to talk, not to get your ass beat.”

“Fuck you,” Artemis said, smiling as she sat down and grasped the glass beer bottle, its cool drops of condensation providing a pleasant sensation against the flushed, sweaty skin of her palms. As she considered what to say, she stared down the neck of the bottle, noticing that the amber-colored liquid was only a few shades darker than the color of ichor. Although it had been several restless nights since her dream of Orion’s constellation and the river, the visual elements of the dream were still fresh in her mind, constantly playing on repeat whenever she found herself in a moment of silence.

While Artemis could not deny that certain esoteric, supernatural elements certainly existed in the world around her, she did not consider herself to be one easily swayed by such elements. Thus, she found herself troubled by the vividness of the dream, which felt more like a solid, permanent memory than some fleeting, accidental slip of the subconscious. She had hoped that Athena might offer some wisdom, but as the two goddesses sat in a solitary corner of the bar, Artemis found herself struggling to speak.

“I need your advice,” she said, swallowing over a lump in her throat as she kept her eye contact fixed on the drink before her. “I had this dream, and it really freaked me out.”

Athena leaned forward a bit, her pale grey eyes widening almost imperceptibly. She, like Artemis, found herself apathetic towards the esoteric, and in her capacity as the Goddess of Wisdom, she often found herself hesitant to lend much credence to things such as dreams and visions. While these phenomena could certainly be valuable in some contexts, she often saw them employed as scapegoats by those who could not find meaning in more rational, tangible explanations. She nodded towards Artemis, waiting for her to elaborate.

“It was about Orion,” Artemis continued. She picked up a bottle cap and pressed her fingers along its cool, sharp ridges before she spun it across the table.

“Oh,” Athena murmured, taking another sip of her drunk as she considered what to say. Although his death had occurred centuries before, the memory of Artemis’ grief remained untouched, as if it had occurred just a day or two prior. How _could_ she forget, after all? The anguished, tortured screams were like nothing Athena had ever heard; such a sound could only originate from a heart severed of its deepest, most foundational connection.

“Well, he wasn’t physically there,” Artemis clarified, her breath halting for a moment at the memory of his physical form, all broad shoulders and olive skin and green eyes and dark curls and blood, _so much blood_, not golden and metallic like hers, but crimson and thick, especially when juxtaposed against a backdrop of white feathers. She shook the memory from her mind before she continued to speak. “I saw his constellation in the sky, but it was like, I could also hear him calling my name while I was floating in this river.”

“Interesting,” Athena said. “Go on.”

“So, I was floating in this river,” Artemis repeated, anxiety halting her for a moment as she realized that verbalizing the events of her dream somehow made them seem more real. She swallowed a large sip of her beer, her skin tingling with drunken warmth. “Every time I blinked, it was like the sky got darker, except for his constellation. It got really big and bright, and I thought I heard him calling my name, so I tried to sit up.”

Even in her drunken state, Athena could not help but notice Artemis’ phrasing: “his constellation.” Not Orion’s constellation, simply _his_ constellation. Athena wondered what kind of pain would swell to such an intensity that the mere act of uttering one’s name proved impossible. She nodded again, beckoning Artemis to continue.

“And then, it was like the bottom of the river disappeared. Something started pulling me under, and I thought I was going to drown for a second, but I finally got my head above the surface and it wasn’t water anymore. It was this really thick, black liquid, kind of like ... You know, it kind of reminded me of the stuff –”

“From Persephone’s ritual?” Athena interjected, noticing her hesitancy. Artemis nodded, and then she continued to recount the final details of the dream.

“So, I tried to get to shore, but when I started to swim away, there were these black wires wrapped around my arms and legs. When I moved, they cut into me, so all of this ichor started pouring out into the river.”

“Bizarre,” Athena said. Artemis gave no indication that she would continue to speak, although Athena could sense that some piece of the story had been redacted. She waited a few seconds, and when Artemis still failed to elaborate, she prodded. “So, did anything else happen?”

“Yeah,” Artemis said, her voice suddenly much quieter. She began to peel the label from her bottle of beer, watching the soggy flakes of paper as they rained onto the table. “I touched the wires, and they made a sound like a lyre.”

“Oh,” Athena said. Although she, more than anyone, had mastered the art of delivering rational, measured responses to unexpected information, she found herself unable to suppress the surprise in her voice. She cleared her throat and observed Artemis as she dragged her nails along the thick layer of adhesive beneath the beer bottle’s label. She was tempted to capitalize on the moment and ask Artemis about the lyre she had found in Persephone’s bedroom just a few days prior, but she withheld her temptation.

“I don’t know, it just felt so real,” Artemis said after a moment of silence, her voice more level than before. She sat up straight and began to tap her fingernails along the side of the bottle, her anxiety unable to keep itself from leaking out through her fingertips as they made contact with the thick glass surface. “I never have dreams like that, so I guess it just kind of caught me off guard.”

Athena had spent several centuries dispensing wisdom to those who found themselves troubled by anxiety and fear, and she possessed the innate ability to draw out such emotions from those who sought her advice. Thus, for the second time since Artemis had begun speaking, Athena found herself unable to repress the nagging feeling that she was only being provided with a half-story, and she knew that she could not utilize the full capacity of her wisdom in response to half-stories.

“Why do you think it felt so real?” Athena asked. 

“Well, when I woke up, Apollo came over,” she started out. Just as she worked up enough courage to explain how Apollo’s presence seemed to be inextricably tied to her dream, a loud, booming voice came barreling towards them.

“So, what’s the latest gossip?”

Ares slung his arm around Athena’s shoulder, his pointed teeth spread into a wicked grin. 

“Fuck off,” Athena said, which only prompted Ares to hug her even more tightly.

“Now, is that any way to greet your big brother?” he bellowed, his voice thick with liquor. “Come on, why the long faces?”

“I was actually just about to leave,” Artemis said, fumbling through her wallet to grab a wad of cash. “Athena, this should cover the tip.”

“Wait,” Athena said, but by the time she shoved Ares off her shoulders and stood up, Artemis was headed for the door.

“I’m going to kill you,” Athena said, turning towards Ares.

“Oh, come on, you guys are no fun,” he taunted.

Athena would have normally engaged in his banter, and she was drunk enough that she may have even placed him in a headlock and ruined his perfectly coiled hair in full view of the public. But as she stared past her brother and watched Artemis rush out into the cold, spring evening, the only thing she felt was the acid churning in her stomach as some inexplicable wave of anxiety emerged in her throat.

* * *

Outside, Artemis pulled up the hood of her black leather jacket, hoping for some semblance of a disguise. A light rain had begun to fall, resulting in a soft, soothing harmony as drops of water plopped along the thick leather surrounding her face before cascading down her shoulders. She walked with a level of intensity that defied the alcohol in her stomach, her eyes only occasionally glancing upwards to ensure that she did not slam into any oncoming crowds. She walked until the sound of drunken excitement faded into silence, giving way to the sound of the rain as it came down in soft, faint sheets along the grassy hills of Olympus. She was surrounded by large, extravagant homes, most of them unfamiliar to her. Although her legs practically shivered with an urge to continue forward, she stopped for a moment to stare up at the crescent moon, her eyes squinting and blinking beneath the drops of rain that fell around her wide, violet eyes.

“I don’t understand,” she said aloud, hoping her voice might somehow carry up through the clouds and come into contact with the constellation above her, just barely visible through a break in the clouds. _His_ constellation.

She could have attributed the strange feeling in her gut to her drunkenness, but she knew that something else lay beneath it, something significant. As she stared up at Orion’s starry silhouette, she could have sworn that his arrow was pointing in a particular direction, like some sort of cosmic signpost guiding her south, to the Underworld.

She began to walk again, her steps beholden to the mysterious gravitational force that urged her further and further along the winding road, headed straight towards the border of Olympus. Her sleek black combat boots stomped through the puddles, with little regard for the cold splashes of water that had begun to soak through the thick, black denim of her jeans. After several minutes, she reached the checkpoint, her physical energy practically untouched despite the relatively long walk she had endured.

“Goddess of the Hunt,” the border guard said, nodding reverently as he squared his shoulders and peered at her from over the brim of his glasses. While her status would undoubtedly allow her to easily pass through the realm, the guard could not help but give pause to the unusual sight of Artemis entering the Underworld. As she swiftly passed by him, he frowned a little to himself, having hoped that she might indicate the intention of her visit.

Artemis’ pace slowed a bit as her legs carried her to the center of the Underworld, her eyes widening as she took in her surroundings. She had been in Hades’ realm only once before, when she paid a brief visit to the Fates, only to learn that no amount of begging, pleading, and screaming would grant her access to Orion’s memory of his final moments. She had never returned, not until now.

She was flanked by enormous skyscrapers on either side, their sleek, black facades stretching upwards into the matching rainclouds above. The windows in the skyscrapers were lit sporadically, emanating soft rays of blue light, not unlike the stars. Similar to the business district she had just left behind in Olympus, she was surrounded by swarms of people, chatting happily and drunkenly as they weaved through the streets.

As the alcohol began to wane from her senses, it occurred to Artemis that, although she were less likely to be recognized here than in Olympus, there still existed a strong possibility that someone might spot her. She ducked into a nearby alleyway, where she took cover behind a stack of boxes. With her back against the wall, her chest heaving with anxious breaths, she almost considered sprinting back into the street and rushing back to Olympus as quickly as her legs would carry her. After all, just an hour prior, she had been posted up at her favorite bar with Athena, throwing darts at the wall and knocking back beers.

And yet, somehow, the very mention of her dream seemed to spark this strange urge that now surged through her body. The energy coursing through her veins almost felt familiar, calling her back to an earlier time in her youth, when she first began to realize the powers that would eventually allow her to be named the Goddess of the Hunt. She knew that this energy could not simply be ignored; it demanded to be acknowledged.

She closed her eyes, sucked in her breath, and wrapped her palm around the raw chunk of amethyst hanging from her neck. It was a gift Orion had given her, centuries before, and although it did not possess any sort of mystical power, the mere act of grasping it in her hand imbued her with a sense of calmness that she so desperately needed in that moment. When she opened her eyes, she took a moment to twist her hair into a tight bun at the base of her neck, hoping that her hair might appear shorter beneath the protective cover of her hood.

As she swiftly inserted herself back into the crowds of people on the sidewalk, she gave herself over to whatever fate lay before her and continued to walk in rhythm with the mysterious force that guided her through the streets. After just a couple of blocks, she came to an abrupt halt, sensing that she had reached her destination. The rain was coming down in sheets now, and as she stood along the edge of the sidewalk, cars glided through puddles that splashed her with tiny tidal waves of cold rainwater. Again, she did not notice the sensation. She was fixated on something else.

On the other side of the street sat The Hydriskos, a small bar and lounge with a bright blue façade. A myriad of neon signs lit up the exterior, promising late-night happy hour festivities and a wide variety of drink selections. The panoramic glass window revealed a much warmer interior, with faint, reddish lights emanating from beyond the glass.

Now, if anyone else were caught there, drunkenly standing on a crowded street corner beneath the midnight sky, with a torrential downpour cascading all around them, their ability to peer into the window across the street would almost certainly be quashed. But as Artemis squinted just ever so slightly, her hunting powers surged to life with a rhythmic pulse through her veins, and her vision acclimated to her surroundings so that she could see into the window with crystalline clarity.

First, she saw the tall, muscular man sitting near the front of the bar. His skin was a deep shade of sapphire blue-violet, and his hair sat in a mess of pitch-black curls atop his head. Although he had shifted his appearance, the sight was unmistakable. She was looking at Apollo, a suspicion only further confirmed by the twinge of a mischievous golden glint in his eye.

Next, she followed his gaze to two women sitting on the other side of the bar. One of them appeared to be a sea nymph, her pale silver skin fading to a vibrant patch of blue scales that surrounded her wide, onyx-black eyes. She wore a form-fitting turquoise dress and large black hoops, which created a pretty contrast against her flowing white hair. She was seated alongside another nymph, her skin shining like a perfectly polished ruby beneath the black dress hugging her slender frame. The tips of her ears poked out from the thick, dark hair that cascaded down her bare back, and several sparkling bracelets dripped down her forearm as she picked up her glass to swallow the clear liquid inside.

Artemis cocked her head for a moment, looking back at Apollo to confirm that he was, indeed, eyeing these two ladies. Sure enough, his stare was fixed on them with a worrisome level of determination. Artemis crossed the street and peered through the corner of the window, not wanting Apollo to spot her, but also desperate to get a closer look at the mysterious women with whom her brother seemed to have such an intense fascination. Upon studying the features of the red nymph once more, Artemis jerked back from the window as she was overwhelmed with a sudden clarity. She recognized the red nymph from the endless tabloid coverage of her relationship with none other than Hades, God of the Dead, King of the Underworld.

Minthe.


	8. Calcination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the wholesome and caring friendship of her best pal Thetis, Minthe reflects on the circumstances that surrounded her childhood. Apollo sees an opportunity to execute one of his most elaborate schemes. Something strange lurks in the darkness.

**Warning: This chapter contains themes of violence against women, attempted sexual assault, and psychological trauma resulting from child sexual abuse. Although I have made a deliberate effort to write the following chapter without including highly detailed or explicit descriptions of these themes, some readers may find this content upsetting. Please take care of yourself, and read with caution.**

* * *

“So, what’s next?” Thetis began, taking a swig of her Bloody Mary in what she hoped was a successful attempt at exercising some dramatic flair. “Are you going to head back to The Swamp?” 

The Swamp, in this case, was not a literal swamp. Rather, Thetis was referring to the small, barren community of Mavratzas. Located at the lower edge of a mountainous gorge that sat just beyond the outskirts of Mystikos – the peak of Mount Olympus – Mavratzas was somewhat of a dirty word among Olympians, akin to the black sheep of the family, the one whose existence is known, but not acknowledged.

The calm, cool waters of the Enipeas River offered a harsh juxtaposition to the tiny town, which consisted of several small, one-story buildings, the vast majority of which were crudely constructed by calloused, arthritic hands in a much earlier time period. The mud bricks of the homes had begun to crumble more rapidly in recent years, and most could not be bothered to repair the damages.

Despite housing a wide variety of fellow mythological beings, and purportedly even spawning a demigod or two, Mavratzas was a far cry from its much larger, more grandiose neighbor. It had been several centuries since Zeus formally granted independence to the region, in a bid to distance Mystikos from the pitiful poverty of those who could not afford to live higher up the mountain. In the generations since, Mavratzas had plunged further into obscurity, just barely held together by the few generations of families who refused to leave.

Minthe was one of many river nymphs borne into the impoverished squalor of Mavratzas. Half of the small, insular community regarded her as one of the “lucky ones,” hailing her as some sort of idyllic success story, a glimmer of hope that generational poverty might be defeated. The other half regarded her as a snob, a stuck-up bitch, a materialistic slut who fucked her way higher up the mountain. Minthe often pondered this dichotomy, and she could never quite decide which of the two was worse.

That said, there was some truth to the fact that she was ashamed of her geographical roots. Although she adored her mother and father, she preferred to express her adoration from afar, sending them annual envelopes stuffed with cash in lieu of visiting. It was not that she was incapable of visiting. Rather, she did not _ want _ to visit, the sole reason for which could be attributed to a short, chubby oceanic daemon with spiky brown hair and a crooked square goatee. He was called Ember. 

Neither she nor the other nymphs could ever quite place the source of Ember’s nickname, although they speculated that it was because of his cheap, black button-up shirt with cartoonish white flames shooting forth from the bottom hemline. He wore that same shirt nearly every day, and it permanently stunk of menthol cigarettes and body odor. No matter the color of her hair, the shape of her physique, the style of her wardrobe, Ember always found Minthe when she returned. And whenever he inevitably found her, he always had but one question: Would she come and work at his strip club?

_ “Look who it is! Li’l miss princess of the Underworld.” _

_ She was holding a pomegranate in her hand. Her fingers curled around the piece of fruit, tight enough that her nails punctured the thick, crimson flesh as if it were soft with rot. _

_ “I know you got those nice dresses now, those fancy fuckin’ fur coats. I’ve seen you in’ose high heels. You’d make a killing, baby. And hey, now that you’re an adult, I can give you a real wage. How’s’at sound?” _

_ The scent of his breath – rum and coke and menthol cigarettes – lit her brain up like a firecracker, sparking a unique, visceral sort of panic, the kind of panic not characterized by one’s emotions but, rather, by the feeling of bile rising up in one’s throat, coating the tongue in sour, sickly acid. She ran into the stinking, dimly lit restroom of the market and held in her vomit just long enough to triple-check that the door was locked behind her. _

“I don’t know what’s next,” Minthe said, shaking her head a bit, as if to shake off the memory of her most recent encounter with Ember, who caught her in the market while she was visiting for her grandmother’s funeral, nearly a decade prior. These thoughts always seemed to peek through when she drank, like tiny, razor-sharp fangs that gnawed at her memory, begging to be released. 

But Minthe would never speak such memories to existence, primarily because she could never quite find the words to verbalize her pain. She merely knew that her memories existed somewhere at the intersection of shame, humiliation, confusion, and rage. In a small town with almost no legal presence, such abuse was no anomaly. If anything, the trauma was somewhat of a bonding experience, some sort of frayed black thread that tied her to the other river nymphs who grew up playing along the riverbanks of Mavratzos, splashing water at one another beneath the hot, cloudless summer sky.

Ember would fish nearby, always eavesdropping beneath the guise of his loud, cheerful whistle. He would approach the girls with his bait, some glimpse of a conversation he had overheard, the false promise of a shared interest. He would convince them to come inside. He would take them to the kitchen first, where he would offer them a cold drink, a cigarette, a piece of candy. Then, he would take them to that tiny, humid bedroom in the very back, the one with rotting planks nailed to the windows, a creaking twin-sized bed in the center, a Polaroid camera hanging beneath a ratty yellow towel from a hook on the door.

Minthe knew from years of experience that the solution to the gnawing fangs in her brain was to drink _ more, _ in some desperate, maladaptive attempt to numb the pain of tiny teeth puncturing blinding white holes in her psyche. So, she promptly swallowed the rest of her martini, and then beckoned the bartender to fetch her another.

* * *

Across the bar, Apollo sat alone in a booth, hoping to gain his own sort of liquid courage. In his estimation, he had seduced dozens – perhaps hundreds – of women in the varied centuries of his life. He fancied himself a sort of craftsman, always stitching together intricate schemes, fashioning complicated traps made of hard liquor and demanding hands and those forceful, glowing yellow eyes.

But Minthe was different.

Seducing Minthe was not borne of his usual desire for sexual conquest. By seducing Minthe, he hoped to accomplish something of far greater magnitude. Thus, he would need to execute a plan of far greater magnitude, to match. The plan had only occurred to him a couple of days prior, when he learned of her banishment. Though he knew little of Minthe, he knew of her recklessness. Her impulsivity. Her capacity for rage. If the Fates wove the remainder of the evening in Apollo’s favor, he planned to exploit this rage.

Getting into her bed would be a relatively simple task. The true difficulty laid in the finer details. As he sat there, drink in hand, hair and skin fashioned to disguise him as a handsome celestial daemon, he considered the myriad of uncertainties that may await him the moment he approached the thin, slender nymph sitting across the bar.

He knew that if it were absolutely necessary, he could crush Minthe beneath the weight of his vengeance and leave her as collateral in his wake, nothing more than a shattered, broken compass by which he navigated to the ultimate outcome of his plan. But this uncertain geography of the route before him, this was where his anxiety lie. Apollo had never hesitated to dispose of those who threatened his way of existence, and although Minthe would certainly be no exception, he knew that he was taking an immense risk in doing so.

But then again, in his approximation, he faced an even greater risk by merely sitting on his hands, waiting for Persephone to humiliate him. He had become consumed by his own paranoia, and filled with an unrelenting appetite for feral, ferocious rage. He found himself unable to sleep at night, plagued by the thought of her gathering up enough audacity to expose him for what he really was. Some small, secluded part of himself knew that his usual tendency for careful, calculated evil was weakened by the sickening rage that had overtaken him in the days since Artemis returned his lyre. But then, he figured, he had never lost before. Why would he lose now?

He took one final, hearty swig of his drink, then stood up to cross the bar. He ran a hand through the pile of artfully messed black curls atop his head before reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. He approached the corner perpendicular to where Minthe and Thetis sat, the two of them speaking in giddy, liquor-thick voices.

“You could always work in retail,” Thetis said, hiccupping a bit as she sipped at a Cosmopolitan, her arm cheerfully slung around Minthe’s shoulder.

“Oh, fuck off,” Minthe said.

“You’re way too pretty to work in retail,” Apollo said, leaning forward and crossing his arms in such a way that his muscles flexed beneath the fitted fabric of his black button-up shirt. He glanced at the two women and smiled a little, his ego warming at the sight of Thetis’ eyes traveling up and down his frame. His arrogance dissolved the moment he watched Minthe roll her eyes at him.

“Hello-o-o,” Thetis sang, and Apollo internally began to curse himself. Thetis was obsessed with Zeus – everyone knew this. Unfortunately, he had chosen a disguise that shifted the color of his skin to a shade of blue-violet nearly identical to the King of the Gods. While he could never surpass the opportunity for sexual validation, he hoped that the target of his seduction would not be blockaded by the very drunk, very enthusiastic sea nymph who was currently leaning towards him in an attempt to draw his eyes to the low-cut hem of her shimmering turquoise dress.

“Hi,” he said, making sure to keep his voice a bit lower than usual. He gave her a half-smile and then shifted his gaze to Minthe, who seemed far more interested in staring at some invisible space far beyond him, as if he weren’t even there. “What are you two drinking?” 

“I could go for another Cosmopolitan, what about you, Minthe-y girl?”

“I-I don’t know,” she said, still not looking up from the empty martini glass before her. In his careful, measured observation of the two women, he could not help but notice that Minthe was quite skilled at holding her liquor. “Vodka rocks, I guess.”

“Rum and coke,” Apollo said, turning towards the bartender and sliding her a thin stack of crisp bills. He watched as Minthe studied her glass of vodka with a strange, robotic intensity.

“_Come on, now, baby doll. You know you ain’t no good if you keep cryin’ like this.” _

_ She did not even know that she was crying. She lifted a hand up to touch her face. Sure enough, her cheeks were soaked in warm, wet tears. She tried to brush them away. This only made her cry harder. _

_ “Sugar, you know I can’t give you no money if you don’t quit your cryin’.” _

_ He retrieved a red plastic cup from the dresser and handed it to her. The contents smelled like soda-pop and hand sanitizer. She recalled a puppet show she had seen a few years prior, in elementary school. Behind the bright blue curtain, people controlled the movements of the puppets with cylindrical wooden sticks and black strings. _

_ “Now, I normally don’t share my liquor, but you’re my special girl, so why don’t you give it a try? Helps the cryin’. That’s rum and coke in there.” _

_ The taste made her gag, but she knew better than to spit it out. She imagined that she was hidden away behind a bright blue curtain, using sticks and strings to control the movements of the hollow red husk of the girl lying on the bed. _

“I’m Alex,” Apollo said, sticking his hand out.

“Hi, Alex,” Thetis said, fluttering her eyelashes as she shook Apollo’s hand. He made a concerted effort not to gag at the sharpened triangular tips of her long, acrylic nails. She slung an arm around Minthe, who forced a small, shallow smile in-between hurried sips of her drink. “I’m Thetis, and this is my friend, Minthe." 

“Hello, Minthe.”

She gave that same pathetic smile and nodded her head as she began to work her way through the clear liquor in the crystal glass before her. 

“You’re welcome for the drink,” he said, bearing an arrogant grin as he clinked his glass to hers.

“Oh, don’t mind her,” Thetis said, jabbing a single, sharpened fingernail into Minthe’s bare upper arm. “She’s just in a bad mood because she was banished.” 

“Could you not?” Minthe said, slamming her already-empty glass against the countertop of the bar. Apollo raised his eyebrows, a mixture of anxiety and excitement emerging at the thought of the surefire struggle she would put up against him.

“S-o-o-orry,” Thetis said, using that same singsong voice she had used to greet Alex-slash-Apollo. “Maybe you shouldn’t have chosen the King of the Underworld to be your personal sugar daddy.”

“Hades?” Apollo asked. Thetis nodded. “I hate that guy.” 

“Right?” Minthe said, making eye contact and smiling at him for the first time. “Everyone is always trying to suck dick with the gods, but they’re so fucking overrated. I’m shocked those fucking morons even get anything done when their brains are usually smaller than their shriveled, little micro-dicks.” 

Apollo could not help but smile back. He knew that he could not waste any energy on becoming angry with her. If anything, he was growing increasingly more excited by her rage, his desires heightened by the sheer hatred she would try – and fail – to weaponize against him. Nothing scratched his itch like putting a woman in her place, and he could not recall a woman who needed one of his so-called attitude adjustments quite like Minthe.

“For goodness sake, Minthe,” Thetis said, wrinkling her nose at the string of profanities that had just been unleashed from the slender spitfire seated beside her. “Could you try to calm down for, like, five seconds of your life?”

“I hope you get banished from Olympus,” Minthe shot back. For a little extra venom, she added, “I hope Hera kicks your sorry ass out.”

Thetis placed a hand over her chest, gasping theatrically. 

“What is your deal, Minthe? You’ve been a total downer since we got here.”

“Sorry, Thetis. In case you haven’t noticed, I have bigger problems than listening to you complain for the millionth time that you’re tired of faking your orgasms with Daddy Zeus.”

Apollo’s eyes widened this time, and he could not help but wonder if perhaps women _ did _ possess some inherent value, even if only in their capacity for providing priceless entertainment.

“Ladies,” the bartender interjected, keeping her voice quiet in a desperate attempt to model normal, adult behavior for the two inebriated women before her. “I’m going to have to ask you to keep it down.”

“I’m leaving. Fuck this bar, and fuck the Underworld,” Minthe said, leaning close enough to the bartender for spittle to fly in her face.

As Apollo watched Minthe strut clumsily out of the bar, he felt a hand curl around his bicep. Thetis was leaning against him, her face stricken with mock sadness as she began to subject him to the saga of her long, troubled friendship with Minthe. As Apollo sat there and pretended to listen, he stared out the window after her, silently arranging for his back-up plan and preparing himself for the potentially catastrophic fallout that might follow it. 

* * *

Minthe sat at her kitchen table, feet propped up on a box of ceramic dishes and silverware. She had turned on every light in the house. Music played through her speaker system, just loud enough to disrupt her solitude. She sang along to an Ella Fitzgerald song while she dragged the thin, pointed blade of her stiletto knife beneath her fingernails, picking away at flecks of dirt and drinking a cold glass of seltzer water.

She was beginning to grow tired when she heard a knock at the door. She slid her knife into the elastic band of her garter belt as she arose from the table.

“Who the fuck is it? It’s fucking late,” she said aloud, almost hoping that whoever it was might hear her. She continued to mumble profanities to herself as she approached the door, and a surge of adrenaline briefly overpowered her drunkenness when she opened the door to find Apollo standing there, still disguised as Alex, wearing a sheepish grin on his face.

“What the fuck?” she asked, peering at him through a crack in her door. 

“Please, I know this is weird,” he started out, “but just let me explain, Minthe.”

Apollo was always eager to try out his manipulation tactics on a new target. He reveled in the reactions of his victims, always so naïve, so stupid, so willing to blanket themselves in the tapestries he wove before them. Minthe, in particular, posed a new and unpredictable challenge. He could tell that she was still drunk, but not as much as before. _ It’s okay, _ he thought. _ You can still work with this. _ He placed a sympathetic hand over his heart, hoping she might take pity on a poor, well-meaning gentleman such as himself.

“Did you fucking follow me?”

“No, I swear. Look, I didn’t want to tell you at the bar, but I actually recognized you from the news. I knew you were Hades ex-girlfriend, and that he banished you.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! I swear to Gods, if you’re trying to pull some creepy undercover journalism shit—”

“No! I’m not a journalist, I swear,” he said, eyeing her reaction. She remained motionless, as if _ she _ were studying _ him. _ “Look, can I be honest with you? Persephone and I were dating a few months ago, and Hades stole her away from me. When I saw you sitting there, I really wanted to talk to you, because I figured, who could understand my bullshit better than you?”

“Persephone?” Minthe said, chuckling a bit as she eyed him up and down. “She dated you?” 

“Look, I know I’m not much,” he said, thinking to himself that she would pay for that comment later on. “She and I are classmates.”

Minthe opened the door so that she could get a better look at him. Apollo was certain now that she was studying him, and for some reason he could not quite identify, this revelation disturbed him. He came here to play with her, not to be played with.

“So, why did she have a boyfriend if she was a member of that virgin pyramid scheme?” Minthe asked, laughing at her own clever nickname for the Maidenhood.

“Oh, Persephone is a total slut,” Apollo said. He had never verbalized his raw, unfiltered thoughts on Persephone until now, and he found himself slightly liberated by the sensation. Minthe, however, seemed unconvinced, so he figured it was time to cast out his line, and hope that she took the bait. Otherwise, he may need to resort to more drastic measures. “I have nude selfies of her and everything.”

“Seriously?” Minthe asked, laughing at the thought.

“Yeah. Well, that’s actually how I found out about her and Hades.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, her pulse quickening.

“She was sending him all these nude photographs. She’s been doing it for months.”

“Are you fucking serious? So, he _ was _ cheating on me with that fucking bitch.”

Apollo could have clapped with glee. It had taken him a little bit of digging, but he had found it: the source of her rage. Now, he merely needed to split the crevice wide open, allow her fury to pour forth, shape it and weld it and finally, strike for the heart of his target.

“Could I come inside? I swear, I’m not going to try anything weird.”

She paused for a moment. On the one hand, she was in no state to allow a strange man into her home, especially not a man who had inexplicably found out where she lived. If she were sober, she almost certainly would have slammed the door in his face long before the conversation had even reached this point.

Unfortunately for Minthe, Apollo knew _ precisely _ when to strike. He knew that she would be vulnerable right now, alone and irritable and half-drunk in her empty condominium. In the past several days, she had collapsed beneath the weight of her guilt for the way she treated Hades. But now, if what this man was saying proved to be true, she could emerge from the shame and humiliation and feel justified in what she had done. She would have a reason for her rage, a _ righteous _ reason, she thought.

“Yeah, come on.”

Apollo immediately began to eye his surroundings. There it was, hanging from a hook on the wall beside her raincoat. A thick black lanyard, with a laminated card attached, _ UNDERWORLD CORP _ embossed in bold black letters across the front, right above a small, magnetized chip. Nearby, on the coffee table, he recognized her sleek silver laptop from the Underworld Corp employee handbook, which he found posted in fragments across the internet.

“I can’t fucking believe this,” Minthe said, returning his attention to the current stage of his scheme. She was sitting at the kitchen table across from him, head buried in her hands, tears of frustration beginning to leak from the corners of her eyes. “Do you have any screenshots?”

“Well, no,” Apollo said. “I, uh, oversaw some texts between them one day, and I went through her phone later on. It’s a little crazy, I know.”

“Whatever, she was being a whore,” Minthe said, waving her hand. “I should have crushed that little flower cunt when I had the chance.”

“Yeah,” he said, carefully considering how to proceed. As an absolute last resort, he could force her to comply with his plan. But ideally, she would go along willingly. “Well, hey, you’re going to be banished from the Underworld, so we might as well try to fuck up his life, right? We should vandalize his house or something.”

“What are you, a middle schooler?” she said, scoffing at the thought. “Hate to break it to you, but throwing eggs at his house won’t fuck up his life.”

“Okay, true. You could post pictures of his dick online.”

“Please,” she said, scoffing yet again. “Hades is _ way _too paranoid about his private life to take dick pics. Even if he did, he would never send me that shit.” She paused for a moment. “But hey, you have photos of Little Miss Springtime Maiden, don’t you?”

Her face appeared to light up at the prospect, her eyes widening. Apollo could not help but smile a little to himself, thinking to himself that perhaps, in another life, under different circumstances, he and Minthe would have been close friends, maybe even lovers.

“Yeah, why?”

“We should post them online.”

“Like, where? She’s kind of a Goddess, and I’m kind of, you know, just a daemon,” he said, feeling a twinge of pain somewhere in his ego at having to downplay his status. “She would fucking kill me if they leaked anywhere.”

“Wait, I have an idea.”

She disappeared into the living room for a moment, and when she returned, she was holding her laptop and employee badge. Apollo could have fainted from sheer delight, watching as his scheme unfolded before him with a level of perfection he could have only dreamed of.

“What, are you going to hack into Hades’ email or something?” he asked, watching as she inserted the badge into the front slot of the laptop. It whirred to life, and she opened the lid to reveal her desktop. She was due to return her work materials on Monday, and apparently, Hades had assumed that he could trust her until then. He had not accounted for extreme circumstances, such as a certain shitty sun god disguising himself as a daemon and then supplying his ex-girlfriend with nude photos of Persephone so that she would be manipulated into uploading them on the internet.

“No,” she said, pausing for a moment. She hesitated, leaning back from the laptop and burying her face in her hands again before she looked at him and spoke. “I mean, we have this shared public drive where Hades uploads really important announcements, press releases, shit like that. Anytime there’s an upload, everyone with access to the drive is notified, and it’s, like, _ everyone. _There are even a few journalists, some external stakeholders, other important people on there.”

“Interesting,” Apollo said, already knowing of the existence of this shared drive from the employee handbook.

“Since I was his assistant, he gave me access to his account on the shared drive. He would ask me to upload stuff on there for him sometimes.”

“Wait, are you thinking of using Hades’ account to post Persephone’s nudes?” Apollo asked, pretending to be shocked by this revelation.

“I don’t know,” Minthe replied, studying his reaction. “That’s pretty fucked up, right?”

“I mean, would anyone be able to find out that it was you?”

“Probably,” she said, biting her lip as she stared at the screen in front of her. She had already navigated to the employee intranet portal, where her internet browser automatically filled in Hades’ credentials for the website where the shared drive was located. She desperately wanted to expel this rage from her body, to unleash it in a dark and explosive burst. She knew that something so petty, so malicious as posting nude photos of Persephone would scratch the itch. But then, something gave her pause. It was something she could not quite identify, but something that unsettled her. “Could I see the photos?”

Apollo hesitated. Why did she want to see them before they continued? Would she notice that Persephone seemed, well, upset in the photos? He figured it couldn’t hurt, that she had already come this far with relatively little opposition, and the least he could do was oblige her request. 

“Sure,” he said, pulling his phone from his pocket. “I, uh, deleted most of them after we broke up, but there are a few on here that we took together.”

Apollo handed her the phone, where he had already navigated to the album containing the three nude photographs. There were several more, but these were the only three where she was not visibly crying. Apollo watched as Minthe looked at the first photo, staring down at it with an unreadable expression. She swiped to the next one. Same, blank expression. Swipe. Same, blank expression. She swiped back, then, reviewing them a second time. Swipe. Blank. Swipe. Blank. Swipe. Blank.

Minthe recognized that expression. Those wide, glassy eyes, completely empty but for the blinding white flash reflected in her pupils.

_ “I’m just taking a few pictures, sugar.” _

_ She laid there, staring up into the lens of the Polaroid camera. He pressed down on the shutter with a loud click. There was a blinding flash, followed by a loud, high-pitched whine. The photo fluttered onto the pale pink sheets beneath her, and he picked it up and placed it on the dresser with the others. _

_ “Come on, baby doll. You’se so much prettier when you smile.” _

_ Was this normal? This did not feel normal. Then again, this did not feel like much of anything. On her way out, she grabbed one of the photos and snuck it into her coat pocket. She looked at it for hours the next day, refusing to believe that she was the girl in the picture. She cut the Polaroid into pieces with a pair of craft scissors. Then, she used the same pair of scissors to cut her hair. All sixteen inches. She placed the chunks of hair and the shredded Polaroid into a brown paper bag, and when her parents fell asleep that evening, she went into the backyard and lit the bag on fire with a match. _

“I’m sorry,” Minthe said, her throat suddenly dry. “You need to leave.” She snapped her laptop shut and yanked the employee badge from its slot. Apollo sat up straight, bewildered. Did she somehow navigate to the other album, the one with the photos where Persephone was crying? He was certain that he had transferred that album to another device, but judging by Minthe’s reaction, he was no longer so sure. Clearly, _something_ had upset her.

“Is everything okay?” he asked. Although his plan was not particularly bulletproof, he thought he had accounted for a wide variety of possibilities. This rapid shift in demeanor was not one of them.

“Look, motherfucker,” Minthe said, standing up and throwing his phone on the ground with enough force to shatter the screen. “I don’t know what the fuck those photos are, but you need to leave. Now.”

“Slow down, Minthe,” he said, slowly rising up from the table.

“How the fuck did you even find my house?” she asked. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Although Apollo still held some small shred of hope that he may be able to salvage his plan from whatever had happened in the sixty seconds since Minthe saw the photos, that hope quickly disintegrated as he watched Minthe hike up the left side of her dress, reach into her garter belt, and trigger the thin, pointed blade of her stiletto knife.

“Let’s slow down,” Apollo said. “Look, I know the photos are a little weird, but she was into some weird stuff, okay? And yes, I’ll admit that I found you because I wanted you to help me with my little revenge scheme, but it’s nothing more than that.”

“Fuck your revenge scheme,” she said, advancing closer towards him. In his current form, he was not much taller than her, and she was quite certain that she could move quickly enough to drive the knife into the center of his throat. 

“Fine,” he said, putting his hands up, still determined to take the nonviolent route. He had almost taken a liking to Minthe earlier in their conversation, and he felt a little sad by this sudden turn of events. “Look, how about this? I know you’re going to be banished, and I know you lost your job, right? What if I paid you to do this? I have a lot of money, Minthe. What will it take? Ten thousand drachma? Twenty thousand? I’ll do it, I swear I’m good for it.”

Tears began to roll down her cheeks as she walked closer to him, the blade of the knife still held firmly in her hand, her eyes cold and unblinking.

_ “You startin’ high school soon, ain’tcha? I bet your daddy can’t afford to get you those fancy clothes you like. How’bout this, I give you a little extra, and you can get yourself somethin’ nice. What’cha say?” _

_ One hand was grasped around her bicep, tight enough that she could already feel a bruise forming beneath his calloused palms. His other hand pulled a wad of cash from his shirt pocket. Fifty, maybe sixty, drachma. Was this the price of her dignity? She wanted to tear the bills from his hand and rip them to shreds at his feet. She wanted to crush his testicles beneath the thick rubber soles of her black leather boots. She wanted to dig her hot pink painted fingernails beneath his eyeballs and pop them from their sockets. _

Minthe wondered, was this the price of Persephone’s dignity? Ten or twenty thousand drachma?

“I don’t want your fucking money,” she said through gritted teeth. She was now close enough to feel his breath on her face, and yet, he was not moving. It was as if he did not even notice the razor-sharp blade inches from his throat. Regardless, Minthe knew she needed to do something. He showed no indication of leaving, and she could no longer bear the presence of whatever evil he sought to bring into her home. She moved her wrist to strike forward. His hand moved with impossible speed to block her, and the knife clattered to the floor.

“You don’t want to do that, Minthe.”

In the blink of an eye, the daemon before her was wrapped in shining golden threads, his skin blazing with a blinding luminescence for a split second before he transformed. Above their heads, the lightbulbs cracked and fizzled out, his sheer power emanating some otherworldly static that plunged them into complete darkness, save for the glow of the moonlit sky through the open windows in Minthe’s apartment. Both his hair and his skin were a dark shade of violet. He wore a thick white robe, tied off by a velvety golden sash at the waist. He was far taller and far more sculpted than his prior form, easily twice the size of Minthe. Most notably, his eyes shined with a strange golden intensity as he stared at the terrified red nymph before him.

He began to advance towards Minthe, who was powerless in the presence of the immensely powerful god standing in the tiny kitchen of her condominium. She could not cry, nor scream, nor guard herself as he walked silently against her until she had her back to the wall, his body pressed to hers, his finger reaching for his neck, raising her up with just one hand so that her eyes met his.

“You bitches,” he said, his breath hot on her face. He loosened the grip on her neck, just enough to let her breathe. He wanted to make sure that she was conscious, at least for now. “You stupid, pathetic bitches are so ungrateful in this age, do you know that?” 

Tears began to roll down Minthe’s check, but just as when she was a child, she could not feel them. Apollo may as well have been holding onto a corpse. Spiritually, mentally, emotionally, Minthe was not there. She was hiding behind that bright blue curtain, the one from her childhood, the one where she watched – but never felt – the movements of the helpless red girl in front of her.

“Do you know how lucky you are?” he asked. He began to reach his free hand down to her thigh. 

Several feet behind Apollo, Minthe recognized a massive, shadowy presence advancing upon them. In her dazed and disoriented state, she believed that she was dying. She was actually quite peaceful in this knowledge. She took comfort in the idea that the encroaching blackness would swallow her whole, taking her away from this pure embodiment of pain and suffering which she inhabited. But as the blackness continued to advance, Minthe’s eyes began to comprehend the strange figure before her, and she realized that it was, in fact, a person, or no, a god. She was certain that this was a god. Hades? Thanatos? Hermes? Was this how it felt for one's soul to evaporate into the blackness? Would they allow her to cross the river? Would they make her stay in Tartarus forever? 

But no, she realized, as the figure continued to move forward, this was someone – something – else entirely. The massive, towering figure was adorned in a cloak of raven’s feathers, a shade of purple so dark that they almost appeared black. Their skin was a similar shade of purple, and in fact, Minthe thought, their skin was nearly identical to Apollo’s. Their eyes were pitch black circles, glowing with a vibrant luminescence that resembled an oil slick. They held a long spear, the handle of which appeared to be wrapped in a string of stars, glowing with blue and silver and purple iridescence.

Artemis plunged her spear forward, striking Apollo at the base of his neck. A fountain of ichor came streaming down his spine just before he vanished.


	9. Dissolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Persephone makes a new friend.

Persephone blinked. 

She blinked again.

Then, she blinked several more times in rapid succession. 

When her vision still refused to acclimate, she rubbed her eyes with the backs of her hands. In doing so, she felt thin, airy fabric sweep along her biceps. She was no longer wearing the black dress and burgundy shawl that Hecate had lent her. As she gripped fistfuls of the thin gossamer, she recognized the familiar silhouette and texture as that of a peplos. She began to crawl forward on the cool, hard surface beneath her. Tiny rocks embedded themselves in her knees as she followed the faint sensation of a nearby ocean mist, spraying forth with the cool breeze that hung in the air.

Just moments ago, she was in Hades’ arms. They had fallen asleep on his couch, their bodies shrouded in a thick, velvety blanket, resting silently but for the sound of their respective breathing and the sporadic crackling of the fireplace.

The memory replayed in her mind as if it were still happening and yet, simultaneously, as if it were occurring within blurred vignettes, happening to someone else, anyone else, anyone but her.

Hecate, pounding both hands against the door. Her heels slamming against the floor as she rushed inside, the Furies trailing her. Panicked. Crying. She was crying. _ Hecate _ was crying. Persephone had never seen her cry before. She remembered the words in fragments.

_ Apollo. _

_ Minthe is still in shock. _

_ Bruised pretty badly. _

_ Tried to rape her. _

_ Wanted to blackmail Persephone. _

_ Nude photographs. _

_ A witness. Artemis. _

_ We don’t know where he is. _

She ran into the bathroom and locked the door behind her. She could still hear them. The Furies, explaining that he did not appear to be in neither the Underworld, nor Olympus, nor the Sea. Hecate, apologizing, over and over, weeping, something about how she “should have known.” The sound of static electricity humming throughout the house, crackling in time with the pale blue glow that leaked through the door. Cerberus howling, three united cries, like sirens, echoing throughout the depths of the Underworld.

Persephone closed her eyes, and now she was here. Shrouded in darkness. Wearing her most rudimentary clothing. Crawling on what felt like a smooth, hard surface. Just as her hand reached out and touched the jagged ledge of the ground beneath her, a woman’s voice pierced through the darkness, loud and low-pitched and perhaps carrying just a slight bit of amusement.

“Fear not, Persephone. The first time here is always quite disorienting.”

The massive figure slowly emerged from beyond the ledge, her rich, blue skin casting a cool glow upon their surroundings. Persephone could see now that she was near the edge of a cliff, which comprised just a small portion of the surrounding mountain range. The ground was a strange shade of pastel teal, the kind of bizarre coloration that could only be found in the Underworld. Above, the turquoise sky was devoid of the moon and stars. Below, cool waves swelled against the rocks, the water like rich, red wine. The gentle tide yielded to the immensity of the figure who had risen to Persephone’s height. Her long, indigo locks of hair cascaded over the front of her shoulder, making room for the massive feathered wings that protruded from her back and rose into the sky. She, too, wore a peplos, its dark red fabric dripping into the ocean so that she appeared to flow directly into the quiet waters from which she arose.

Five big, magenta eyeballs fluttered open.

“Do you know who I am, Goddess of Spring?”

“You’re Nyx.”

She smiled, and if the sight of hundreds of razor-sharp fangs weren’t terrifying, it would almost be endearing.

“Say what you will about that mother of yours,” Nyx said. Five perfectly round, black pupils narrowed in on Persephone as she leaned forward to study the small, pink goddess more closely. “She certainly raised an intelligent one.”

“Why am I here?”

Nyx raised a single hand – a hand nearly twice the size of Persephone – and curled it into a fist, upon which she rest her chin. Persephone noticed with a mixture of curiosity and annoyance that the exceptional goddess appeared to be amused, perhaps even pleased, by her presence.

“Excellent question, little one. Why _ does _the Goddess of Spring find herself knelt before the Goddess of the Night?”

“I don’t know,” Persephone said, a knot forming in her throat. “I don’t know what’s happening.”

“Might it have to do with the darkness which you have been thrust into at the hands of Phoebus Apollo?”

“You know about that?” Persephone asked. The knot in her throat became tighter, threatening to unleash a well of tears the moment it became undone.

“I know many things, Daughter of Demeter. I bore The Fates, after all.”

Persephone looked down at her lap, where she wrung fistfuls of the thin, gauzy fabric between her hands.

“Why did this have to happen to me?” she asked, her voice small.

Nyx’s face softened, and she thought to herself that she might like to hug Persephone if the small pink goddess would not certainly be crushed to death by her embrace.

“I am afraid my vast and expansive knowledge does not contain an answer to that particular question. My daughters do not select the pattern of the thread which they weave. They are subject to its will, just the same as you and I and every other being.”

“I’m just so ashamed,” Persephone said, tears flowing freely down her face now. The knot had come undone, untangling all of the pain and humiliation that came with it. “He hurt someone else because of me.”

Persephone regretted her inability to maintain some composure in the presence of such an incredible figure, but she was also quite cognizant of the inexplicable atmosphere which hung in the strangely still air that surrounded her. Everything – from the barren night sky, to the stale silence that existed in between their voices, to the simple clothing draped over her body – contributed to a feeling of nakedness. It was as if her physical form had been shed, leaving only the spirit which lay beneath.

“You’ve nothing to be ashamed of,” Nyx replied. “The actions rendered by Phoebus Apollo are borne of the evil in his heart. I can assure you that it was present long before you existed.”

“I just want everything to stop for a little while,” Persephone said, sniffling.

“That is why you find yourself here, Persephone,” Nyx explained, her long, sculpted arms gesturing to the monochrome biome surrounding them. “Although you cannot simply make everything stop, I believe that you can guide your path in the direction of justice. You, too, must believe this about yourself.”

“I don’t know how,” Persephone said, the volume of her voice rising in conjunction with her frustration.

“May I humbly suggest you begin by recognizing that you are not required to forge this path in isolation, dear one? You are surrounded by others who care for you, and although you are hesitant to ask for their support, I am quite certain that you would lend yourself to them, were the roles reversed.”

“Yes, I would,” Persephone said, more quietly this time.

“Speaking of which, I should not keep you here much longer. Aidoneus is quite concerned for you,” Nyx said, pausing for a moment before her mouth spread into that terrifying, mischievous grin. “Young one, I must tell you, in all the millennia of his tortured existence, I have never seen the Son of Cronos worry quite so much as he does for you.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” Persephone cocked her head to the side, her eyebrows furrowed. Nyx laughed, finding herself quite amused by the overall demeanor of the spunky, sensitive young goddess.

“As much as I have enjoyed making your acquaintance, Goddess of Spring, I had better not see you again until your coronation ceremony,” Nyx replied. The huge, circular eye in the center of her forehead winked.

“My coronation ceremony?” Persephone asked, her anger and sadness now replaced by confusion.

“Y-your ... What? Coronation ceremony?”

Hades’ voice rang through her ears with a similar level of confusion. Persephone’s eyelids fluttered open to find that she lay in his bed, a blanket pulled up over her body. Hades was sat up beside her, his thigh providing a resting place for her head as his fingers gently combed through her hair.

“Are you okay?” he asked, struggling to mask the panic in his voice, so as not to frighten her. “You were passed out in the bathroom. You’ve been blacked out for the past few minutes.”

“I-I was with Nyx,” she said, biting her lip as tears began to roll down her cheeks. She sat up and pulled the blanket more tightly around her shoulders, that sense of nakedness still overwhelming her. Hades only nodded as he, too, was overwhelmed with the urge to weep. He was all too familiar with the implications of being brought before Nyx.

“Persephone,” he said, his chest tightening as he struggled to find his words. “Are you alright?”

In Persephone’s absence, Hades had transformed with a sort of raw, reckless energy that threatened to shatter every window in his home. He wanted vengeance. He wanted it _ now_. He wanted to mangle and mutilate Apollo’s body and leave him just on the brink of consciousness before he cast him away to the darkest, most unrelenting depths of Tartarus.

But then, Hecate’s words also echoed in his mind, tearing him away from his deep and carnal rage back into the present, where he was only wanted to hold the soft, trembling pink body curled up beneath his blankets.

_ She needs you right now, Hades. _

“I’m so sorry,” was all that Persephone could manage to say as she doubled over, burying her face in her hands. Her piercing, visceral sobs were punctuated by the sudden presence of flowers, black and wilted in her hair.

“No, Persephone,” Hades said. He was overtaken by tears of his own, silent and innumerable as they fell from his cheeks. “Please, don’t apologize, Sweetness. I’m right here.”

He gently reached out to touch Persephone’s arm, but upon feeling his fingers brush against her skin, she recoiled, turning her body away from him. She wished that she was invisible, that she could will herself back into the darkness, away from this reality that had been thrust upon her, this reality that had been chosen for her without her consent.

“I am so sorry that I wasn’t there to protect you.”

Hades’ words rang through her, causing her to sit up straight and wipe the back of her face with her hand so that she could speak through the sticky shield of tears covering her skin.

“Stop that. I should have been able to protect myself.”

Hades hesitated for a moment before he spoke.

“Sweetness, you know, I cannot speak to what you’ve experienced. But I do know how it feels to carry that shame. That horrible, overwhelming frustration towards yourself for failing to escape,” he said, certain now that he was unable to disguise the sound of his own crying. The scars on his chest suddenly felt very visible, aching in a way that they had not ached in several centuries. “And I know that such a burden is nearly impossible to carry on your own.”

His words reminded Persephone of what Nyx had told her: _ You are not required to forge this path in isolation, dear one. _

“I don’t want to place that burden on you, though,” she said, turning herself back towards him so that she could look at his face. She watched as the tears cascaded from the corners of his eyes. “You shouldn’t have to deal with my pain.”

“Persephone, I _ want _to be here for you. I know that this sounds irrational, but you should know that my feelings for you are far stronger and far more significant than anything I have ever experienced.”

Persephone remained quiet for several seconds, stricken by a lack of reconciliation between the glowing, liquid warmth which spread throughout her stomach and the solid, icy panic which sat frozen in her chest.

“You don’t think I’m disgusting? O-or worthless?” she asked, her voice just barely audible.

“No,” he said, his anger flaring at the realization that Apollo had implanted such an idea in her head. Again, he forced himself to recall Hecate’s words. _ She needs you right now, Hades. _“I think you are the kindest, most resilient, most beautiful person I know.”

Although she still wept into the thick folds of blankets pulled up over her legs, Persephone gingerly reached out a single hand towards Hades. He grasped it in both of his own hands, and then he kissed the knuckles of each finger, over and over, hoping that she might feel the warmth of his lips against her skin and know that he was not going anywhere, that he did not _ want _to go anywhere.

“I’m here, Sweetness,” he said. “I’m right here.”

Finally, she unfolded her legs, and with the blanket still wrapped around her shoulders, she brought her body closer to his where he sat up against the headboard. She looked up at him for a moment, as if to search for some sign of approval in his expression before she allowed herself to collapse against his chest. Without a second thought, Hades circled his arms around her and brought her head against his chest, where he gently ran his fingers through her hair and began to remove each wilted flower, one by one.


	10. Separation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hecate forges a bond with an unlikely ally. Afterwards, the Furies take a little trip to the mortal realm.

**Warning: This chapter contains descriptions of physical violence. **

* * *

Hecate hunched over the countertop of her workbench and pressed her cheek to the cool, marble surface, hoping that the sensation might imbue her with some much-needed energy. On the contrary, she felt her eyelids grow all the more heavy, and she propped her elbows up on the surrounding textbooks and began to doze off.

It was nearing four o’clock in the morning, and although she had assured Hades that she could handle damage control while he looked after Persephone, her energy had begun to wane. The initial surge of adrenaline that pulsed through her veins when she laid eyes on the crime scene in Minthe’s kitchen had all but worn off, leaving exhaustion and frustration in its wake.

At present, she was posted up in her basement laboratory, surrounded by several open textbooks, each of them offering distinct insights and suggestions on the art of telesthesia. Although the Goddess of Witchcraft had effectively utilized this skill countless times before, she was met with an inexplicable blockage whenever she attempted to summon Apollo’s location. After several unsuccessful attempts, and a few failed forays into the adventurous tactics described in her texts, she felt the familiar sensation of a spiritual fog beginning to settle in her skull, indicating that both body and brain were in desperate need of a rest.

Unfortunately, Hecate’s ninety-second nap was interrupted by the hesitant thudding of a fist against the heavy black door of her laboratory.

“Alecto,” she said, sighing as she opened the door to greet the fury where she stood at the threshold of Hecate’s basement. “What is it?”

“I wanted to check in,” Alecto said. She, too, was rife with exhaustion, evidenced by the looming presence of soft, purplish hollows beneath her sleepy, sunflower-shaded eyes. Even her serpents had checked out for the evening; their scaly, golden eyelids were shut, and they slumbered against the soft shoulders of their master.

“Go on,” Hecate said, leading Alecto into her lab and gesturing for her to take a seat alongside her at the workbench.

“Well, Tisiphone got Minthe to safety,” Alecto started out. Per Hecate’s request, Minthe was holed up in a sizable one-bedroom suite at a high-end hotel, nestled in the secluded southern region of the Underworld. “Tis’ returned here roughly 30 minutes ago. We plan to take turns checking on Minthe periodically over the next 48 hours.”

“Very good,” Hecate said, sipping at her cup of green tea in an attempt to keep her eyes open for the remainder of the conversation. “What else?”

“Megaera finished documenting all of the events that occurred this evening,” Alecto continued. She reached into her notebook and removed a thin stack of crisp, white paper, each page filled to the margins with meticulous lines of detail. “I triple-checked it, and it should be good to go.”

“Excellent,” Hecate said, briefly scanning the pages and finding their neatness to her liking. Hades planned to meet with his brothers in just a few hours, and both he and Hecate anticipated that Zeus would be hesitant – if not downright outraged – at the prospect of punishing Apollo, one of the most dutiful and well-known gods among the mortals. Thus, it was imperative that Hades not leave any stone unturned, and Hecate hoped that providing him with a detailed account of the attack would help.

“Also, I just finished talking to Artemis,” Alecto said, shifting a bit in her seat. She had saved this particular discussion for last. “Her version of the story was ... unexpected, in a way.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

Hecate folded her arms over her chest and set the stack of paper aside. She was curious to hear of Alecto’s revelations, considering their initial suspicion towards Artemis. Although they did not pin her as a direct participant in Apollo’s crimes, they were wary of her unexplained presence in the Underworld, and Hecate worried that she may have wounded her brother only to cast suspicion away from her own role in the attack, whatever it may be.

“First of all,” Alecto said, flipping through several pages of hurried, handwritten notes, “I showed her the photos that we found in the hidden folder on Apollo’s phone. She confirmed that the sheets and pillows match the guest bedroom in her apartment, where Persephone had been living.”

“Wonderful,” Hecate said, shaking her head a bit. “So, not only did she allow her little Maidenhood friends to think that Hades was the one to ‘steal’ Persephone’s virginity, but she also failed to mention that it was her own brother, in her own fucking home. Unbelievable.”

“Well, here’s the thing,” Alecto said, hesitating for a moment. “I don’t think she knew about the attack.”

Hecate cocked her eyebrow and scoffed.

“She ran to the bathroom and threw up when I showed her those photos. I wish I was exaggerating.”

“Hmph,” Hecate mumbled. “Well, why did she feel compelled to visit the Underworld for the first time in two centuries, at the exact moment her brother was attempting to rape and kill someone? Barring the explanation that she must have known what he intended to do, I can think of no logical reason for this.”

“That’s the thing. Her explanation sort of defied logic.”

“Explain,” Hecate said, her curiosity piqued. The prospect of Artemis becoming entangled with powers that spanned beyond her usual realm of physical, concrete matter filled her with an undeniable intrigue.

“She walked all the way from the center of Olympus to the center of the Underworld, so, roughly five or six miles, on foot, in the pouring rain. She said she somehow didn’t realize she was even moving, because something inside of her, quote, ‘just knew where to find Apollo.’ She also claims to have had a vision the other day, and that this is somehow related, but she wouldn’t explain much further than that.”

“A vision?”

“Yes. All she would say is that she had a dream where Apollo tried to hurt her, and that when he visited her the following morning, she experienced some kind of vision related to this dream.”

“Interesting.”

Hecate stood up and strode to the center of the room, where the large, heavy crystal ball at the center of her altar twinkled beneath the glow of the torches which towered over the circular iron table. Surrounding the crystal ball, a trail of salt formed a pentagram, with a small, black bowl placed at the northernmost point. The bowl contained a pool of Apollo’s ichor, still fresh from where Hecate had scooped it from the trail of viscous, golden liquid left behind on Minthe’s kitchen floor. She paced around the altar, an idea forming in her head as she studied the empty space of the crystal ball where Apollo’s face should have appeared in her attempts to summon his location.

“I’m guessing you haven’t been able to find him,” Alecto said, casting her eyes downward and taking a breath before she proposed yet another task for herself and her sisters, despite her better judgement. “We could search Olympus again, if you’d like.”

“No,” Hecate said, shaking her head. “No, that won’t be necessary. Is Artemis still here?”

“Yes, she’s still in your study, where I interviewed her.”

“Bring her down here, would you?”

“Sure,” Alecto said, though the lilt of her voice hinted at her confusion.

“If she was really able to find Apollo without knowing his location,” Hecate said, the idea still formulating as she verbalized it into existence, “perhaps she can repeat this particular skill a second time.”

* * *

“Did I do this right?” Artemis asked, the tone of her voice suggesting that even if she did not do “it” right, she was not particularly interested in fixing “it.”

It, in this case, referred to the black, silk robe which was draped elegantly over her shoulders, hanging all the way down to the tops of her bare feet. She had discarded her clothing and shoes at Hecate’s insistence; something about adhering to a certain physical form whenever one attended to duties of an esoteric nature.

“Perfect,” Hecate said, fussing with the golden rope tied around Artemis’ waist and smiling despite the unamused expression of the exhausted, young goddess before her.

Hecate could not blame Artemis for her irritation. After all, she had not been particularly keen on coming to Hecate’s home in the first place, although she felt compelled to aid in the investigation of her brother, as some small way to compensate for the actions of her own flesh-and-ichor. But now, as she stood before the altar with a thin robe just barely shielding her naked body, and her feet growing pale against the freezing stone floor, her patience had reached its limit, and she was eager to return to Olympus.

“Aww,” Tisiphone cooed, her sisters grinning beside her where they sat along the workbench, excited to catch a rare glimpse of Hecate’s sacred spellcraft in action. “You two match!”

“Ladies,” Hecate said, suppressing a smile of her own as she turned around to face the Furies. “I must remind you that your presence during this ritual is a privilege, and that I will require absolute silence once we begin. Understood?”

The Furies nodded in unison.

“Now, would you please turn off the overhead lights for me?”

“Yes, boss,” Alecto said with a wink. She pulled a long, beaded string from the ceiling, and the five figures were now illuminated only by the dancing flames of the four torches around the altar.

Hecate turned back around and placed her hand on Artemis’ shoulders, hoping that Artemis would not notice the strange, tingling sensation as Hecate’s warm, turquoise palms pulled a soft pulse of energy from the shivering purple skin beneath her fingers. Upon receiving Artemis’ energy, Hecate was awash with a paradoxical blend of exhaustion, annoyance, and excitement. Beneath her foremost emotions, Hecate was surprised to catch a fleeting sense of urgency, as if Artemis’ fight-or-flight response had been activated.

“Now, based on what you’ve told to Alecto,” Hecate said, studying Artemis’ reaction as she spoke, “you were able to find Apollo without knowing where he was. Correct?”

Artemis nodded. She was following, at least for now.

“I’m uncertain if this can be explained by the bond you share as twins,” Hecate continued, turning for a moment to dip her right index finger into the bowl of Apollo’s ichor where it sat on the table, glittering beneath the flames of the torches above. “Or, perhaps you have some unknown power which has not been revealed to you yet.”

Hecate used the ichor to draw a thick, round circle on her left palm. Then, she reached for Artemis’ right hand, where she drew a second circle to match her own. Artemis felt her heart begin to pound more heavily against the walls of her chest as the sense of urgency grew, mirroring the sensation she was stricken with several hours before, when she decided to find Apollo in the first place.

“Regardless, I believe that you possess some innate ability to locate your brother, and I intend to recreate the circumstances which allowed you to activate this ability,” Hecate explained, gently pulling on Artemis’ hand and leading her to the other side of the altar, so that the bowl of ichor was opposite from where they stood. “Then, once you’ve tapped into that ability, I will channel your energy into my body, and it is my hope that we can collectively produce an image of his location.”

The logic was sound, assuming one believed in such capabilities in the first place. Although Artemis was not particularly swayed by the supernatural, she could not deny the tingling sensation that surged through her legs, the same sensation which compelled her to walk for miles in the cold, pouring rain until she found her brother.

“For now, Artemis, all I need you to do is place your left hand on the crystal ball, close your eyes, and trust me. Could you do that for me?”

Artemis nodded. She and Hecate placed their palms against the crystal ball at the same time, and she was taken aback by the acute rush of cold energy that pulsed throughout her body, raising the hair on her forearms and bringing sudden, stinging tears to her eyes. She shut her eyelids as Hecate reached for her hand, clasping their palms together so that the circles of ichor were pressed to one another.

The Furies craned forward, eyes wide with fascination as Hecate began to speak in Mycenaean Greek, the most ancient manifestation of their language. As the Goddess of Witchcraft initiated a ritual with the sort of fluidity that can only be found in one’s mother tongue, the sisters watched as the flames of the torches heightened, casting off swirls of gray smoke and white-hot sparks.

“Artemis,” Hecate said, the volume of her voice elevating as she shifted back to their modern language. “Recall the circumstances that led you to find Apollo. Recall the sensory experience that surrounded you when you decided to follow him.”

Artemis first recalled the taste of beer, coating her tongue. Then, she recalled the sound of crickets and frogs, calling out to one another in their own gleeful chatter not unlike that of the bar-goers back in the city. She remembered the scent of pollen, wafting from the spring flowers lining the sidewalks. Next, she recalled the sensation of the impending rainstorm as it coated her bare face with a faint, cooling mist. Finally, she recalled the sight of Orion’s constellation, bright and gleaming in the night sky.

Behind them, the Furies watched as a swirling, circular cloud of gray energy materialized within the crystalline sphere at the center of the altar.

“Now,” Hecate said, her eyes remaining shut as she pressed her fingers more firmly against the crystal ball, “I would like you to recall that movement in your legs, that sensation which guided you to walk for miles until you found him.”

This task was more difficult than the last. Artemis stalled for several seconds, struggling to remember a feeling that she had hardly noticed to begin with.

“Draw your focus to your legs,” Hecate instructed, sensing Artemis’ difficulty. “Do not try to find the feeling. Simply locate where the feeling happened, and then allow it to find you.”

Artemis nodded. The muscles in her legs flexed and tensed beneath the black veil of her robe, which disguised a faint, white glow emanating from her bare skin. Artemis was overwhelmed with a sensation not unlike her recent dream, in which her mind seemed to revert to a state of absolute blackness, disconnected from the actions of her body.

“Excellent job, Artemis. Remain in that feeling,” Hecate said.

Inside the crystal ball, the cloud of energy swirled with a blurry, muddied mixture of several new colors: red and pink and orange and yellow and just a hint of deep, dark blue, curled along the outer edge.

“Now, I need you to do one more thing,” Hecate said, careful to keep her voice monotone. “I need you to recall the moment you decided to enter Minthe’s apartment.”

Hecate needn’t provide any further specification. Artemis knew instantly of the moment she was referring to. It had occurred as she knelt in Minthe’s front doorway, moving with shadowy silence into the apartment. As she advanced toward Apollo, she was only vaguely aware of the black feathers that emerged from her shoulders. Her mind was concerned with but one thing, reminiscent of her most fundamental, most carnal urge: The urge to catch her prey. 

Both Alecto and Megaera stifled a gasp as a clear image came into view, baring the same clarity and sharpness that one would find if they were physically present to watch the event unfold before their eyes.

“There you are, fucker.”

Artemis opened her eyes at Hecate’s sudden break from her robotic, ritualistic tone. Her gaze settled on the crystal ball, and she suddenly understood Hecate's reaction. Although he was disguised in full mortal garb – from his olive skin, to his brunette hair, to his plain, burgundy robe – the man before them was unmistakably Apollo. He sat on the steps of a temple, which appeared to be situated atop a grassy, rolling hill, the bottom of which sloped into the sea. His eyes were cast along the horizon, where the sun had just begun to peek over the gentle tide and illuminate his surroundings.

Hecate smiled as she removed her hand from the crystal ball and drew her fingers to the air. She twirled her wrist a bit, causing her golden, gem-studded bracelets to slide further down her forearm with a pleasant jingling sound. As she moved her hand, the image in the crystal ball shifted, drawing further away from Apollo to provide a wider view of his surroundings.

“Wait!” Artemis said, her breath catching in her throat. “That statue, on the side of the temple.”

Hecate’s fingers trailed through the air for a moment before the vision zoomed forward, focusing on the tall, marble statue that stood beneath a slight overhang of the temple, at the very center of several towering columns.

Beneath the fearsome breastplate affixed to her broad, sculpted shoulders, the figure wore a long, flowing robe, with immaculate ripples that hung along her sturdy, yet elegantly curved, silhouette. Her curls were fashioned in an elegant wreath that encircled her scalp, atop which she wore a grand helmet, with a massive plume of feathers that trailed down to the nape of her neck. One arm was slightly bent at her side, flexing the chiseled muscles that rippled from her biceps to her forearms all the way to her hand, where she held a spear. Her other arm was bent forward, held out in front of her chest to showcase the inquisitive, focused gaze of an owl perched atop her forearm.

“Athena,” Hecate breathed. 

“I’ve been here before,” Artemis said, her voice hurried with excitement. “Athena and I have visited for festivals.”

“You’re certain this is the one?”

“I’m absolutely positive.”

Hecate pulled her hand away from Artemis’, breaking the energy that bound them to the vision, which swirled back into transparent nothingness within the polished curvature of the crystal ball. She hurried over to her workbench, where she rummaged through a drawer and removed a large, paper map of Greece.

“Artemis,” she said, beckoning the goddess to come and join her where she stood. “Would you show the Furies where this temple is located?”

“Why don’t I just go with them?”

Hecate whirled around to face Artemis, whose grave expression indicated no presence of a punchline. She was serious.

“I’m more capable of anyone than hunting down my brother,” she said, addressing Hecate’s foremost concern before she could even verbalize it.

“I need to be absolutely cert—” Hecate started out, only for Artemis to cut her off.

“You can trust me,” she said. She stepped forward and clasped Hecate’s hand, bringing the dried, shimmering orbs of ichor on their palms together once more. “I can do this, Hecate.”

“Okay,” Hecate said, nodding and looking over to the Furies. “Artemis will go with you. But you need to leave immediately. The mortals will be going out into the streets as it gets lighter. Here, follow me.”

Artemis, Alecto, Tisiphone, and Megaera followed Hecate to the furthest corner of her laboratory, where she stopped just short of a towering, black steel cabinet.

“Before you go,” she said, clasping her hands together and turning to face the women who surrounded her, “I must remind you that we already anticipate a great deal of difficulty in convincing Zeus to render punishment against Phoebus Apollo. Thus, it is of the utmost importance that you remain inconspicuous in your attempts to take him down.”

The four nodded obediently.

“The temple should be relatively isolated at this time of day,” she continued, turning around and removing a ring of keys from the pocket of her robe. She began to open the series of locks which lined the door of the cabinet before them. “Personally, I would advise that you lure him into the temple, at which point you can subdue him away from the sight of the mortals.”

The cabinet door swung open to reveal several shelves, upholstered with black velvet. Each shelf showcased a different weapon, and some shelves contained several, ranging from knives, to daggers, to arrows, to spears. The blade of each weapon appeared to have been dipped in some sort of dark turquoise-colored liquid, which glimmered and sparkled with flecks of gold and silver. As Artemis and the Furies leaned forward to marvel at the extravagant display, they noticed that the bits of gold and silver were not merely specks of glitter, but that they actually appeared to move, slowly and imperceptibly, dancing along the blades like bits of fairy dust.

“Artemis,” she said, reaching for a dagger on the uppermost shelf, “I’d like you to take this.”

Artemis studied the weapon in her hand, its beauty so great that she feared she might somehow ruin the object by allowing it to come into contact with her skin. The heavy sheath was fashioned of obsidian and jade, with three intricate mandalas depicted across its surface, each of them accented by thin, gold lines and small, hexagonal gems. The handle was crafted of milky white ivory, with Hecate’s sigil – a perfectly circular moon, with two identical crescent moons expanding from either side – emblazoned of gold and accented with a large, sparkling sapphire in the center.

“Wh-what is this?” Artemis asked, certain she had never seen such a finely crafted dagger, even in her six-or-so centuries of serving as Goddess of the Hunt. She unsheathed the weapon and watched in amazement as the tiny specks of silver and gold swirled along the razor-thin blade. She ran her finger gingerly along the razor-thin edge, admiring its sharpness.

“Careful,” Hecate warned, a devious smile pulling at her lips. “These blades are imbued with a particular spell of mine, so that whenever they pierce flesh, the prey will become far more ... compliant, let’s say.”

* * *

Apollo strolled through the marketplace, careful to match the slow and steady pace of the surrounding crowd, which increased in size with each passing moment of the sun’s ascent. His heart fluttered in his chest whenever he made eye contact with any of the olive-skinned, dark-curled villagers. The combination of sleep deprivation, hunger, and mild dehydration culminated to create a toxic blend of anxious paranoia, which only exacerbated the rapid decline of his physical state. A thin sheen of sweat formed along his hairline and upper back, and his body felt simultaneously empty and full, jittering with a nauseous hunger while also stuffed with the cottonlike fog of overwhelming fatigue.

He stopped at the first food stall he happened across, where several other villagers bustled about, inspecting the long, vibrant rows of wooden crates, each overflowing with various fruits and vegetables. He filled his small canvas sack with several fat, ruby-red figs; a couple of soft, sun-ripened apricots; a sizable handful of purple grapes; and a hearty chunk of bread, which radiated with the tempting warmth of a loaf freshly baked. When he reached into the pocket of his robe to retrieve the drawstring bag where he had stashed a considerable amount of drachma, his fingers were met only with the crisp, inexpensive fabric of the inner lining of his robe.

Apollo was gripped with a fleeting surge of panic, and he began to whip his head back and forth, certain that he must have been robbed. But then, as he felt his eyes glimmer with a faint tint of yellowed vision, he squeezed his eyelids shut in an attempt to ground himself. He was surrounded by mortals, and even the slightest indication of his powers was certain to prove disastrous. Then again, he was still drawing unwanted attention to himself as he stood before the vendor with several drachma worth of food and nothing to show for it, aside from the dumbstruck expression which crossed his face.

“Sir, do you intend to pay for those?” the vendor asked, puffing out his chest a bit. It was early in the morning, and he was in no mood to entertain the usual claims of “my money was stolen” or “I already paid you, don’t you remember?”

A handful of customers stood in line behind him, their frustration verbalized by the sound of impatient and irritated chatter, elevating in volume. Apollo began to grow even more anxious, and thus began the internal battle between his desperate attempt to remain unnoticed and his overwhelming urge to flatten the villagers for daring to raise their voices against him.

“Allow me to help you, young man.”

A short, curvy woman stepped around him and reached into the pocket of her robe, careful not to show the distinct, bright red cord of Apollo’s drawstring bag as she fished around for a handful of drachma, which she handed to the vendor with a graceful grin. She carried a clay mug of piping hot tea in her hand, and she noticed the Apollo’s gaze linger on the tempting promise of hydration.

“Here, would you like some?” she asked, raising the mug. He drank the liquid eagerly, paying no mind to the soft sting of heat as it traveled down his throat, warming his stomach. It tasted of green tea and lemon and something else that he could not quite place, though he was far too dehydrated to mind. Even if he _ were _in a state of proper physical fitness, it is unlikely that he would have recognized the taste of valerian root, pungent and earthy beneath the soft notes of lavender to disguise its presence.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, blushing a bit as the woman continued to trail behind him, despite his attempts to hurry away from the scene of his humiliation.

“I saw you earlier,” the woman said, glancing up at him as she maintained that same, graceful smile. “You were at our temple.”

Apollo stopped in his tracks to give the woman a proper look, and he was filled with embarrassment as he noticed the long, flowing white robe; the golden rope tied around the curvaceous dip of her waist; the simple olive wreath placed atop her silky, yellow curls. She was almost certainly an attendant to the Athenian temple where he sat to watch the sunrise, shortly after his arrival.

“I apologize,” he said, bowing his head a bit and averting her gaze. “I am passing through your village, and I sat there to rest, earlier this morning. I hope I have not violated any orders of your temple.”

“Ah,” the woman murmured, nodding her head a bit. They began to round the end of the dirt path, straying from the heart of the crowd that gathered in the marketplace. “Well, under usual circumstances, the temple is only accessible during festivals. However, we occasionally allow visitors within the walls, should they express the desire and the fitness to place themselves before the image of Athena.”

“I see,” Apollo replied, popping grapes into his mouth, trying to avoid the bruising pain, deep in his ego, at this woman’s oblivion to his true identity. As she paced ahead of him just ever so slightly, he noticed the way her long, spiral curls draped to the small of her back; the way her calves peeked through the slits in her robe; the way her golden-hazel eyes lit up when she spoke. She was quite attractive, and he began to wonder what sort of “fitness” he must possess before he could enter the temple.

“You appear quite exhausted, strange traveler,” she said, smiling a bit over her shoulder. She eyed him up and down, deliberately fixing her gaze on the chiseled edges of his abdomen, which were visible beneath the thin protection of the burgundy fabric draped across his body. “Tell me, have you found a place in our village where you might stop to rest?”

“I have not,” he said, her lustful gaze serving as a soothing balm against the aching wound of his ego. A fleeting sense of paranoia passed through him, though he suppressed it momentarily, if only to learn how he might go about finding a place to sleep in the unexplained absence of his wallet. “Where might you suggest?”

“Well, dear traveler,” she said, wandering further along the dirt path, closer to the temple, which was marked off by the natural boundary of a small, rolling slope covered in spring blossoms, “you seem to have run into a bit of bad luck, having lost your money, no?”

“Correct,” he said, pausing for a moment before he added, “Although, I would work for a place to stay, if necessary.”

“What kind of work might you be referring to?” she asked, turning to face him. She backed up against one of several towering, marble columns, and she glimpsed over her shoulder for just a moment, to ensure that they were alone. By her careful calculations, the resident priest of the temple should be back in the marketplace from where they arrived, perusing the market for his daily offerings and exchanging small talk with the villagers.

Apollo advanced towards her, his lips soft and stained with the ruby tint of fresh figs. He smelled of sweat and saltwater, and that voracious, venomous smile crept across his lips in conjunction with a golden twinkle in his eye.

“My physical strength ensures that I can perform many, many tasks,” he said, glancing down at the short, curvy woman, noticing that she did not seem intimidated by his presence, but rather, intrigued? Aroused, perhaps? His eyes traveled down the front of her neck, to the soft, sun-kissed skin of her breasts where they sloped beneath the fabric of her robe.

“I’m certain I could find some use for your talents,” she said, stepping forward so that her body was just shy of pressing against his own.

“But, then again,” Apollo mused, “your tone does not seem to indicate the sort of character I would expect of a woman devoted to serving a virgin goddess.”

“You don’t even know my name,” she said, smiling up at him as she hooked one finger in the dark brown sash which encircled his waist. She felt the slight bit of tension in the fabric, just below his navel, and she smiled wider. This was almost too easy.

“I’m sorry,” he said, reaching down to remove her hand from his sash so that he could grasp it in his own. The woman’s smile faded a bit as he clasped her hand with a grip that was just tight enough to delve beyond mere politeness; there was some inexplicable threat lingering in the squeeze of his hands around her own. “My name is Theodore.”

“Good to meet you, Theodore,” she said, pulling him along as she turned to enter the temple. “My name is Alexis.”

Apollo followed her inside, stopping for a moment to marvel at the architecture of the temple. He knew Athena to be a goddess of innumerable temples, but this one was particularly immaculate, with intricate sculptures lining the upper border of each wall. He smiled at the depiction of himself standing alongside his sister, each of them clutching their respective bows and arrows. He made a conscious effort not to brag about the depiction of his likeness, certain that the woman would find him crazy.

“Alexis? Is that you?”

A voice appeared from behind a column, revealing another woman of similar stature, though she was a bit shorter, and more slender. Her round face and wide, circular eyes were nearly identical to Alexis’, and he was certain that they must be sisters. He noticed with a sly smile that she appeared to possess a similar set of curves, as well. Her thick, red curls cascaded over her collarbone, which peeked out from the gentle draping of her own white robe. She studied Apollo with her round, gray eyes, taking care to linger on his torso for a little longer.

“Who is this?” she demanded, placing her hands on her hips. 

“Tryphena,” Alexis said, rushing forward to place a reassuring hand on her sister's shoulder. “This is Theodore. He is a traveler to our village, and he is in desperate need of rest. I was thinking that we might allow him to enter the bedchamber for a little while, just until he is ready to continue his travels?”

Neither Tryphena nor Alexis knew if a bedchamber even existed; in fact, they were almost certain that it did not. However, they would ideally accomplish their goal long before Apollo came to this realization for himself. 

“That is,” Alexis continued, her eyes widening with curiosity as she spoke, “unless the priest plans to return soon.”

“No,” Tryphena said, forcing herself to bear a sugar-sweet grin. She did not possess her sister’s propensity towards the theatrical, hence why she had insisted that Alexis be the one to try and seduce Apollo. “It appears the priest will be gone well into the afternoon.”

“Excellent,” Alexis said, turning to smile up at Apollo. He looked down at the pair of women, feeling his lower abdomen ache with some other unfulfilled physical need. He suppressed the urge to tackle them to the floor and pin their throats to the ground right at that very moment; he was determined to pass through the town without incident, and he merely needed to rest for a short while before he could do so.

“We should probably make sure that it’s okay with Marita,” Tryphena said, gesturing towards the _ cella _ – the small, secluded sanctuary at the opposite end of the temple, where an immaculate statue of Athena stood atop an offering table carved of ivory. The _ cella _ was a sacred space, only opening its door for those deemed worthy of placing themselves before the godly aura of Athena’s shrine.

“Your temple is staffed quite heavily,” Apollo noticed, cocking an eyebrow as he studied the expressions of the attendants before him.

“The priest – our grandfather – is quite old,” Alexis explained. Tryphena stifled a laugh, ever amazed by her sister’s ability to spin such silly tales at a moment’s notice. “He has grown weak in recent years, so my sisters and I have taken to helping him. Here, come with us to meet Marita. She should be finished with her morning offerings by now.”

At the sound of her sister’s advancing voices, Marita exited the _ cella_, closing the door behind her. She stood at a similar height to Tryphena, although her hair was more red-violet in color, and her eyes sparkled with a curious shade of brown, so dark they almost appeared black. She was the curviest of her sisters, with large, round breasts that held their shape even beneath the substantial draping of her white robe. Apollo swallowed over the lump in his throat and smiled at her, now desperate for the sisters to show him to this supposed bedchamber, if only so that he could subdue the aching arousal between his legs.

Alexis explained the presence of the traveler for a second time, to which Marita nodded, carefully considering the words of her sister.

“I propose one condition,” Marita said, gesturing towards the closed door of the _ cella_, hoping that Apollo would not hear the anxious, anticipatory breathing of the huntress situated beyond its thick, marble walls. “If you wish to rest within the walls of Athena’s temple, it seems only appropriate that you kneel before the goddess and present her with an offering. Wouldn’t you agree, sisters?”

“Indeed,” Tryphena said, nodding profusely. She eyed the cloth sack in Apollo’s hand, which still contained several figs and a handful of grapes. 

“You have some remaining fruit there,” Alexis said. “Even if you present her with so much as a single fig, it would be a gesture of good will before we permit you to rest within these walls.”

Apollo considered this proposition for a moment, turning it over in his mind, examining it for cracks and crevices. After a moment of silence, he nodded. He knew that these shrines were nothing more than mortal attempts to bring themselves closer to the gods, and that placing a piece of fruit before a rock was not likely to provide the Goddess of Wisdom with any real insight into his presence. So, the three sisters ushered him through the door, where he was brought into the wide, rectangular room. There were no windows in the _ cella_; the only light was provided by rows and rows of small, circular candles, placed along the thick, raised slab of marble which lined the walls. Their tiny flames cast an eerie glow, and Apollo became cognizant of a strange sense of dread growing in his stomach as he advanced towards the shrine, where Athena’s stark, marble-white eyes peered down at him, her features accented by the flickering shadows cast by the candlelight.

“As we have allowed you to present yourself before the Goddess of Wisdom,” Alexis said, placing her hand on the small of his back as she guided him to the very edge of the shrine, where she gently nudged him forward, indicating that he should kneel. “I must ask that you place your offering at her feet, and then I must ask that you repeat this hymn.”

Apollo reached into the sack and removed a fig, which he placed at the feet of the shrine. His eyes darted around the room, desperate to spot something, though he was not quite sure what he was looking for. He merely knew that a strange presence lurked in this room, one which nearly drove him to his feet and demanded that he sprint towards the exit as fast as his legs could take him. But as he knelt against the floor, his muscles were so grateful for the temporary relief that he could not help but linger there for a moment, relishing in the fact that he was not standing for the first time in nearly 24 hours.

“O Goddess,” Alexis said, positioning herself directly behind Apollo as she spoke. He kept his eyes fixated directly on the shrine above, completely unaware of the transformation taking place behind him. Alexis’ skin shifted from the disguise of her mortal, sunburnt tint to its natural shade, one which resembled a bright, springtime daffodil. Nearby, her sisters underwent a similar transformation. Tryphena’s skin shifted to a dark shade of silver, and Marita’s to a shade of deep, reddish lavender.

“O Goddess,” Apollo repeated, his voice devoid of expression. He was desperate to get this over as quickly as possible; he could already feel his eyelids growing heavy beneath the dim, gentle light of the tiny flames encircling the room.

“I humbly submit this offering,” Alexis said, smiling as the texture of her hair became thick, dry, and covered in small, metallic scales. Two serpents materialized on her shoulders, each of them flicking their tongues forward, desperate to sink their fangs into the prey which sat obediently beneath their master. Once again, her sisters underwent a similar transformation, each of them silently patting the eager serpents which rest upon their shoulders.

“I humbly submit this offering,” Apollo echoed, shutting his eyelids and allowing himself to bask in the monotonous lull of Alexis’ voice. 

“I am an insignificant and unworthy being,” Alexis said, shooting a playful glare at her sisters, who were trying not to burst into laughter.

“I am an insignificant and unworthy being,” Apollo repeated.

Apollo knitted his eyebrows together a bit, confused by this phrase. As the God of Music, he knew of countless hymns, and he could not help but notice that this one seemed particularly ... straightforward in its approach.

“I am a rotten, disgusting rapist.”

Alexis’ voice was replaced by a new one, one that he recognized.

Artemis stood behind him, one hand clamped firmly on his shoulder, the other grasping the glittering, grandiose handle of a turquoise-bladed dagger, which she plunged firmly into the base of his throat. The moment the blade came into contact with his flesh, he attempted to transform so that he could defend himself, but he did not feel the usual tingling sensation that spread across his skin whenever he shifted to his godly state. Rather, he felt a dull, burning ache in the center of his throat as he collapsed against the cool, marble floor.

His back arched in place, while his head stayed firmly against the ground, as if something – or someone – were sitting on him, smothering him, suffocating him. He began to scream in unison with the anguished cries that echoed inside his skull, so loud within the confines of his mind that he thought he felt his brain vibrate. His limbs began to jerk with tortured spasms, the bones in his arms and legs rattling within his skin as they slammed against the ground.

As the curse continued to spread through his bloodstream like some sickly, killer pathogen, the burning sensation only intensified, and he could have sworn his skin was melting off the bone, dripping to the floor into the puddle of ichor pooling beneath his convulsing body. His veins shifted to a shade of pitch black, so dark that they could be seen beneath the cover of his skin. His body hummed with a dark, glowing aura, which lifted him several inches from the ground before returning him to the hard, marble surface with a powerful slam. He was stricken with an overwhelming bout of vertigo, and as the vomit bubbled up in his throat and his eyes rolled back into his head, his vision began to shift to complete blackness.

The last thing Apollo saw was Artemis, Alecto, Megaera, and Tisiphone, standing over him with wide-eyed wonder. Artemis opened her mouth to speak, and her voice was the final thing he heard before he was plunged into the darkness, accompanied only by the tortured screams echoing against the shattered walls of his psyche. 

“Sweet dreams, little brother.” 


	11. Brief Announcement

Hi, readers! I wanted to make a brief announcement regarding the current status of Alchemy.

As much as I hate to leave everyone at the most recent cliffhanger, I must set this work aside for the next couple of weeks. As some of you already know, I am in the very exciting process of completing my final semester of graduate school. These next several weeks will require a pretty intensive workload, and I want to make sure that I'm placing the necessary time & focus into my studies.

Rest assured, I have several remaining loose ends to tie up with this story, and I'm looking forward to finishing it once I can devote the proper time and attention that it deserves. I plan to continue with the story **some time between mid- and late-February**.

If you'd like to keep up with me in the meantime, you can [follow me on Twitter](https://twitter.com/merkvry) or add me on Discord: **merkury#0538**. 

Thanks for reading!


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